" Of such as HE WAS 

There be few on earth : 
Of such as HE is 

There are many in heaven ; 
And life is all the sweeter 

That he lived, 
And all he loved 

More sacred for his sake ; 
And death is all the brighter 

That he died, 
And heaven is all the happier 

That he's there." 



IN MEMORIAM. 



GEMS OF POETRY AND SONG 



ON 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 



WITH PORTRAIT AND EULOGT. 



God sent his singers upon earth 
With songs of sadness and of mirth. 
That they might touch the hearts of men 
And bring them hack to heaven again. 

LONGFELLOW. 



COLUMBUS, O. 
J. C. McCLENAHAN & COMPANY. 

1881. 



COPYRIGHTED 
BY J. C. McCLENAHAN ft Co. 



PRESS 
COTT & HANN 

OOLUMBUb 



r? 

133- 



PRBFA6E. 



Whatever is vital to truth and dear to the human heart has 
found its most attractive expression in poetry. A sublime 
truth expressed through the medium of the poets is a mighty 
power for good, " and comes like the benediction that follows 
after prayer," and is a perpetual spur to noble deeds and illus- 
trious achievements. The thoughts of the great in poetry form 
part of a nation's intellectual coin, and, like other coin, serve 
both as the measure and the prolific source of intellectual 
wealth. 

The object of the compiler of the present volume was to 
collect into a neat form, for preservation, a choice collection 
of the beautiful sentiments expressed in verse on our beloved 
and departed President, by the poets of all nations, but more 
especially those of our own land. 

Many of the thoughts herein uttered will remain as lasting 
memorials " of a fame that never dies," and shall point to 
the illustrious life of one of God's chosen heroes whose sub- 
limity of character will ever stand as an ideal to all coming 



2 PREFACE. 

generations. Heroism and martyrdom have crowned a career 
unique in modern history. 

" Not on the gory field of fame 
His noble deeds were done ; 
Not in the sound of earth's acclaim 

His fadeless crowns were won. 
Not from the palaces of kings, 

Nor fortunes sunny clime, 
Came the great soul, whose life-work flings 
Lustre o'er earth and time. 

" For truth with tireless zeal he sought : 

In joyless paths he trod 
Heedless of praise or blame he wrought, 

And left the rest to God. 
The lowliest sphere was not disdained : 

Where love could soothe or save, 
He went, by fearless faith sustained, 

Nor knew his deeds were brave." 

The amount of poetic literature at hand at this time has en- 
abled us to compile a volume of considerable extent and merit, 
whereby we bring to the literary market no perishable wares, 
but the immortal productions of poetic genius in its loftiest 
aspirations, laying its offerings upon the altars of humanity and 
pure manhood. The volume is beautifully enriched by a 
most eloquent and faithful eulogy on the character and work 
of President Garfield, by Rev. R. S. Storrs, of Brooklyn, 
New York. 

As for our part, we have spared no expense in respect to 
typography, paper, and mechanical execution, to make the 
book in appearance equal to its inward merits, and hope that 



PREFACE. 3 

we have" produced a volume that will justly serve as a memo- 
rial to the noble character whose life it seeks to commemorate. 

Cordial thanks are due for the courtesy freely extended to us 
by which several copy-righted poems have been allowed to ap- 
pear in this collection. In regard to a number of them, per- 
mission has been accorded by the authors themselves, and 
some were written expressly for this work ; other poems have 
been gathered and have been necessarily used without espe- 
cial authority, and where due credit is not given, or where the 
authorship may have been erroneously ascribed, future editions 
will afford opportunity for correction, which will be gladly 
made. Particular acknowledgments are offered to the pub- 
lishers of the following papers and periodicals for the assist- 
ance received at their hands : The Boston Globe, Post and 
Transcript, Cincinnati Commercial, Chicago Tribune and Inter- 
Ocean, Philadelphia Times and Press, New York Tribune, 
Herald, Harper's Weekly, Harper's Bazaar, Leslie's Illustrated 
Newspaper, The Century Magazine, Christian at Work, and 
Puck, London (England) Spectator, Truth, Illustrated News, 
Atheneum, and Punch, California Chronicle, and many others. 

OCTOBER, 1881. J. C. M. 



GONTENTS. 



A Burial Ode T. C. La Motile 99 

After The Burial Oliver Wendell Holmes 27 V 

After All's Done Miss Muloch 1 1 5 

After All , Anonymous 3 1 

After The Journey Anonymous 121 

A Hymn Prof. David Swing 85 

A Little While P. H. Taylor 133 

A Letter John G. Whittier 139 

An Exile's Tribute Mrs. John P. Morgan 98 

At The President's Grave Anonymous 65 

At Rest A Song B. Herbert 132 

Autumn James A. Garfield 143 

Brotherhood , Anonymous 1 1 8 

Burial of Garfield Anonymous 130 

Carmen Auguratum Auspicans A. Bronson Alcott 83 

Dust to Dust James Nesbit Karr 114 

England to America London Punch 104 

Eulogy Rev. R. S. Storrs, D. D. 7 

Fatherless Kate Tannatt Woods 93 

Garfield London Punch 82 

Garfield Death Loves a Shining Mark. . . . T. B. Coster 91 



CONTENTS. 5 

Garfield's Favorite Hymn 138 

Garfield President of The People, George Parsons Lathrop 59 

Garfield Anonymous 6 1 

He is Dead, Our President Charles Turner Dazey 72 

His First Sabbath in Heaven 5. L. Little 32 

Home at Mentor Kate Brownlee Sherwood 34 

Illinois to Her Bereaved Sister Illinois 55 

In Memoriam The Window The Grave, Rev. J. A. Ely 36 
In Memoriam James A. Garfield. . ..Abbie C. McKeever 69 

In Memoriam W. J. Gregg 22 

In Memoriam Anonymous 67 

In Memory of General Garfield Anonymous 89 

In Pace Requiescat Anonymous 44 

J. A. G Julia Ward Howe 70 ^ 

J. A. G Humanitas Regnans M. J. Savage 77 

Laurel Cypress Louisa Parsons Hopkins 24 

Lay Him to Sleep Anonymous 101 

Lincoln and Garfield O. Everts 81 

Memory James A. Garfield 141 

Midnight John Boyle O'Reilly 86 

Ode to the Assassination Anonymous 31 

On the Death of President Garfield, Paul Hamilton Hayne 42 
One that will be Memorable for Generations, . . J. W. M. 45 

Our Dead Chief Magistrate S. A. J. in 

Our Departed President Alfred N'evin, D. D. 100 

Our Fallen Chief By an Ex- Confederate 1 29 

Our Hero Minnie Ward Patterson 2 1 

President Garfield Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 27 * 

President Garfield A. C. A. 49 

Queen Victoria's Gift F. D. 48 

&* 

2 



6 CONTENTS. 

Queen Victoria's Wreath George W. Ferrel 63 

Rejoice Joaquin Miller 50 1/ 

Requiem Mrs. Laura G. W. White 5 2 

September 19, 1881 Thomas Bailey Aldrich 66 

Sleep, Comrade ! Anonymous 1 26 

Sonnet James A. Garfield H. Bernard Carpenter 113 

Strange Craft in the Offing Lilly C. Darst 137 

The Calling of the Roll on High Anonymous 125 

The Dead President 6'. H. Thayer 1 1 7 

The End John G. Holland 26 

The Fire is Out : F. W. C. 23 

The Greed for Office Edward Berwick 102 

The Last Bulletin Maria E. Blake 95 

The Lord Reigneth E. F. L. Gauss 124 

The Nation Weeps Joseph A. Nunez 105 

The Nation's Guide George Bird-Eye 108 

The Night of Death Rudolph Elstein Ugiets 82 

The Second Martyr D. M. Jones 74 

The Sobbing of the Bells Walt Whitman 1 13 

The Soldier by the Sea David Graham Adee 60 

The Sorrow of the Nations Thomas Mac Keller 107 

There is Mourning Everywhere Anonymous 1 09 

They Loved Him Eugene J. Hall 122 

Thou Knowest Best F. W. Reeder 135 

Time's Hand Shall Comfort Us Lucy M. Creemer 134 

To Mrs. Garfield Theodore Watts 85 

Why Should They Kill My Baby Will Carleton 119 

Why Should We Mourn Anonymous 81 

Young Garfield at Chattanooga Hczckiah Buttenvorth 96 



EULOGY ON JAMBS ABRAM GARFIBLD. 

BY REV. R. S. STORKS, D. D. 

He who has died by the stroke of the assassin, or by the 
unjust stroke of power, having filled high offices and honora- 
bly filled them, has always commanded thereby the reverence 
of mankind. William of Orange and Henry Fourth of France, 
illustrate this to us ; our own Lincoln, as clearly as any in all 
the past. The statues of Counts Egmont and Horn stand in 
the great square at Brussels in which they were executed, be- 
fore the windows through which Alva looked unrelentingly on 
their death. The blood of Walter Raleigh, killed by the jeal- 
ous and tyrannical James, makes enduring imprint upon his- 
tory, and only allures men to closer study of his chivalrous 
career. And so shall it be in coming time with him for whose 
untimely death, at the hand of a mean and malicious assassin, 
the world mourns. That on the brightest, gladdest day of all 
his life, at the summit of his power and hope, the bullet smote 
him, will keep his name eminent before the eyes of mankind. 

But even aside altogether from this tragic pathos of its end, 
there has been that in the life of our late President which will 
be sure to give him a prominent place in history. It is cer- 
tainly unequalled in the rapidity of the changes which make 



8 EULOGY ON 

it read almost like a romance, like some ancient poetic fancy 
solidified in the modern American experience. Think of the 
marvellous and swift changes in that career, now so suddenly 
and so sadly closed! Born in a log house in 1831, in the 
then remote State of Ohio, in a comparatively unsettled dis- 
trict of that State; losing his father at the age of eighteen 
months, so that he could never afterwards remember his 
father's face; accustomed to see his mother working in the 
fields as well as in the house, and to hear her read her four 
chapters in the Bible every day; at the age of fourteen help- 
ing to build the first frame house for that mother, replacing the 
previous one of logs with one more comfortable; at the age of 
sixteen driving horses on the tow-path on the canal; at the age 
of eighteen, under the strong impression of religious truth and 
the strong impulse of the faith in his heart, uniting himself 
to the Church, under whose history and teaching he had been 
brought up; still later, going to school to fit himself for college 
if that might be; living for a time on thirty-one cents a week, 
which was all that he had for food; working as a carpenter, 
that he might pay his tuition, and buy for himself some neces- 
sary books ; finally received into college, and spending his two 
years there with profit and in honor, having entered in ad- 
vance of the class; in 1856 entering political discussion and 
public activity for the first time, of course in a modest and 
humble way, in what is known as the Fremont campaign; re- 
turning to marry two years later the woman to whom his heart 
had been pledged, whose studies he had by turns guided and 
shared, and in whom h'is heart most safely trusted in whom 
the heart of this nation has now delight, and shall have ever- 
more; unable by reason of his poverty to secure or build a 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 9 

house for himself and family until four years later ; becoming 
principal in instruction in the school from which he had gone 
to college ; becoming a member of one branch of the State 
Legislature; entering the army in 1861; Lieutenant-Colonel; 
then Colonel; then Brigadier-General; then Major-General, 
until in the close of 1863 he resigned his place in the army in 
order to enter Congress, to which he had been elected without 
solicitation or previous expectation on his part, and which he 
was earnestly urged by Mr. Lincoln, then President, to enter, 
that his military experience, as well as his civil wisdom and 
eloquence, might be of service to the government in Congress 
re-elected nine times, and associated with the different impor- 
tant committees, on Ways and Means, on Military Affairs, on 
Banking and Currency, and on Appropriations; the leader of 
his party in the House, unchallenged at last in that position; 
elected to the Senate ; before he had time to be seated as Sen- 
ator elected President and all before he had reached the age 
of fifty years ! Bring into one view that crowded, changing 
career, so full of resolute endurance and fortitude, of courage 
and persistent endeavor, so full of success rapid, signal, vic- 
torious success until, beginning so humbly and closing on 
such heights of power and renown, this amazing career was 
to be crowned has been crowned and baptized into sacred- 
ness by the blow of the assassin ! I think we shall all concede 
it as certain that history will keep the remembrance of his 
name! Even as the fame of Washington has not been ob- 
scured or lowered, as the generations have passed; as the 
fame of Lincoln seems sure to be the same while the country 
endures; so the fame of this man, just gone from us, will only 
be brighter and higher as years go on. 



IO EULOGY ON 

And there are some things which I am sure that the general 
sense of the country and of the world will affirm concerning 
this man, as his character and work, and the story of his life, 
are longer and more carefully pondered. Certainly the history 
which keeps the record of his career will recognize the fact 
that he was the most conspicuous representative, in his 
generation, of a complete and genuine American manhood. 
In his blood he represented the commingled and powerful life 
of the people. His ancestors were English, with a sprinkling 
possibly, of Welsh blood in their veins. An early intermar- 
riage united them with the German stock. For more than two 
centuries and a third, I believe, they had been in this country. 
One of them had been in the Concord fight, where was fired 
the shot " heard around the world." After the Revolution 
they removed to the interior of this great State. At the 
beginning of this century, under the impulse which pushes 
always Americans westward, they removed again to Ohio; 
and there, through his mother, came to the boy who was 
afterwards to be President, an infusion of that Huguenot 
blood which has added so much of the splendid and the noble 
to our public history; the blood represented by Jay, and 
Boudinot, and Bowdoin, and the Bayards, by Laurens and 
Huger, and all the others. I think this gave to the boy 
in Ohio his sensibility, his tastefulness, something of special 
courage and aspiration, with not a little of his surpassing fervid 
eloquence. 

He represented thus, in the very genesis of his life, the ele- 
ments which go to form the strenuous American life-force. He 
represented as well, in both his early and later training, the 
discipline which has trained that essential life-force into beauty 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. II 

and power. All the small means of general culture which 
were accessible to General Garfield in youth were just those 
common to American children : the district school, the modest 
academy, a few newspapers and books. In the use of these 
began the knowledges, by aid of these were developed the 
powers which afterwards were displayed in his manhood. 
Therefore it was, in part, at least, that his sympathy was 
so wide with all classes of men. Whether of one nationality 
or race, or of another, whether of one condition in life or 
another, there were none who were not received by him with 
most ready and cordial welcome. By birth and training he 
was brother to all. 

He represented the American in his readiness for every de- 
partment of work. In civil life, or in military life, he was 
ready for the demands of any office when those demands were 
made upon him. He had not been born of an aristocratic 
stock, the influences of which had predetermined him to one 
career only. If he had been incapacitated from any cause, 
while in office, for other pursuits, he could have earned his 
living on the farm he enjoyed his farming life better than he 
did his public career. As a preacher, as a legislator in the 
halls of Congress, as General in the army, or as President, his 
aim was always to do the best that he could do, with all his 
force, while in the station, and to be ready to go from it to 
any other when time was ripe. That fitness and instant readi- 
ness to meet the demands of any office entrusted to him in- 
sured a far wider range of influence than he otherwise could 
have reached. 

In his natural and strong tendency toward public life, his 
desire to imprint his impressions, if he might, on the affairs of 



12 EULOGY ON 

the country, he represented the spirit which is common in our 
Republican nation. We sometimes criticise it; we ask why it 
is that any man with the wealth of moral and mental resource 
which this man had, wants to enter public office. It is because 
he sees the large relations of the influence which he there may 
exert. In this democratic country the desire for public office 
is to the best man a just, laudable, and beneficent ambition. 
He represented the American spirit in that very thing; and in 
the passion of patriotism, which is not with the intelligent 
American the mere love of a particular territory, because he 
happened to be born upon that territory, which is the immense 
and religious enthusiasm born of the past history of the nation, 
of its grand works, its grand endurances, and of the vast and 
bright opportunities opening before it. Therefore the nation 
honors him now with this universal grief and praise. There- 
fore it stands with its tearful eyes looking after him as he 
ascends into the heavens ; and feels that ' ' we have lost our 
bravest, our fairest, and our best," in whom was incarnated 
the vital genius of the expanding American people at the 
present time. 

I do not think that Washington, if he were alive to-day, 
and in his old office, would be accepted as such a representa- 
tive of the public spirit as now it exists. He stands apart, 
reserved, and comparatively exceptional ; representing the 
magnificent class of Virginia planters of his time a class 
whose work and power were indispensable to the success of 
the popular cause in the war of Revolution, but which was 
essentially a special class in American society. He does not 
represent, as this man who so sadly passed from us has done, 
the popular temper of even his own time. Lincoln did not 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 1 3 

represent it in all his relations, although in some more vividly 
even than he who has gone. But Lincoln did not touch the 
rarer and finer culture of his time. He had been educated 
with Shakespeare, and Burns, and the Bible, but he was not a 
linguist like Garfield, who had accomplished his desire to make 
himself master of the different languages toward which his 
spirit had early been drawn. With the classical languages, 
with the modern literary languages of the world, he had made 
himself familiar. In the compass of his mind and attainment 
he touched the extremes of American life ; and while at home 
in thought as well as feeling, with the ploughman in the field 
or the mechanic in the shop, he was equally at home with the 
Professor in his class-room, and with the deep and subtle 
thinker in his finest analysis of thought or life. 

So he stands before us in the fullness of that character and 
generous culture which our times, in our country, cherish and 
demand ; and I think that, if only in this respect, as represent- 
ing so vividly the genuine and complete American manhood, 
we might well mourn his loss more than for all the eloqtience 
which we know to have been so often on his lips, more than 
for all the wisdom in counsel which was expected from him in 
the future conduct of the government. I think, too, that it 
cannot be doubted that the story of his astonishing career will 
contribute to further this manhood throughout the nation. 
What he became, and what he did throughout his life, will be 
brighter now, since he is dead, since the red crown of martyr- 
dom fell upon him. He has done as much, at least, as any 
man of his time, to advance and foster true manhood in his 
country. He aimed to do this, as far as he had opportunity, 
with a particular and positive purpose. In his work as a 



14 EULOGY ON 

preacher, his object was to touch and ennoble the moral nature 
of man. He studied to do it as an educator. One who was 
under him has testified to that affectionate fidelity with which 
the honored instructor followed him after his school hours, 
mingling with his pupils familiarly, and, at the same time, 
asserting his dignity in the school room in a manner impressive 
to all. As a soldier, he was humane and generous, as well as 
chivalrous and daring. He was working for moral ends, even 
amid the fierce and stubborn clash of arms; not only for the 
maintenance of the old national institutions, but for the further- 
ance of the noble moral life of the nation, which seemed to 
him essential to the maintenance of those institutions and the 
re-establishment of national unity. He fought, not from desire 
for military aggrandizement, but impelled to the fight, as so 
many other unnumbered thousands were, by the inward moral 
impulse which affirmed the unbroken American Union 
necessary to the sustenance of the highest moral and Christian 
life throughout the country. 

In legislation, his aim uniformly was to maintain justice, 
equity, and honesty, in order that the moral life of the na- 
tion might be educated by its law-making and law-makers. 
We may not always apprehend I doubt if we do how much 
the character of a people is moulded by the laws which it in 
its freedom allows or enacts. It educates and inspires, as well 
as expresses, its highest reason and conscience in just laws. 
Precisely in proportion as such laws affirm the dominance of 
principles of righteousness above present convenience, in- 
terest, or pleasure, they are salutary to the heart and moral 
sense of a nation. More than essays, poems, art, they culti- 
vate and strengthen whatever is best in it; and our late Presi- 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 15 

dent when a legislator he insisted on paying honest debts in 
honest money, not in currency, but in gold was educating 
the spirit and heart-life of the people ; and when he advo- 
cated with equal earnestness and power, or carried out to 
equal accomplishment, other measures of difficult public 
equity and virtue, the nation in its ruling majority had 
taken a fresh oath, by reason of his impression upon it, 
to fidelity and righteousness, to the future, and to God. 

But more than as an educator, soldier, preacher, or legisla- 
tor, he has educated, and will educate in time to come, the 
moral life of the people by the character he exhibited. I do 
not doubt that he had his frailties and faults, though what they 
were I am not aware; but we cannot be mistaken in feeling 
that the combination in him of gentleness and of courage, of 
the most resolute fortitude and the most uncomplaining pa- 
tience, of the sweetest domestic affection and the highest 
patriotic consecration, all crowned with religious devotion and 
faith this combination has been remarkable I will not say 
unique, but very signal. Among all the public men whose 
names we reckon upon the rolls of our illustrious when we 
read our history, there has been no one who has stood nearer 
the Christian judgment and heart of the land. There has 
been no one, therefore, from whom an influence has ema- 
nated, finer in its nature, or wider in its reach. He who in- 
carnates character exerts more power for good than he who 
teaches about it. It is a glory to our history that such a char- 
acter has appeared, with such a training and in such a posi- 
tion, to be celebrated here in time to come. The great lead- 
ers of the State have always this illustrious office, of training 
to like quality with themselves the men, especially the young 



1 6 EULOGY ON 

men, who admire and follow their brilliant lead. We know 
how much Jackson did in this way, with his masterful will; 
how much Webster, with his magnificent eloquence ; or Clay, 
with his daring and chivalrous leadership. We know how 
much Washington has done thus from the outset, with his un- 
yielding supremacy of spirit. So the influence of this man is 
to pass into the future. He has passed where our praises or 
tears can no more move him, but this homage of the land has 
had in it a solace and succor for him in all his fierce protracted 
trial; and it has come to the character which he has exhibited 
most clearly in these last sad and memorable and most instruc- 
tive weeks. I think it better for the country to have had that 
character .exhibited in its ruler than to have had him most sig- 
nally successful in any measures of public policy ; better and 
nobler for him to have shown it than if he had voiced his 
thought in any chiming poetic stanzas, than if he had elabo- 
rated any treatise, or builded with artistic grace the grandest 
cathedral. It is an immense and consummating work, to have 
interfused the impulses of his character and career, by the 
universal homage which has crowned them, into the unfolding 
life of the American people. 

Especially, let us not forget how he has led the civilized 
world, through the peculiar circumstances of his career, to 
know and to honor American domestic life and personal 
character as it never had done before. The power of the 
American people had been before and increasingly recognized 
throughout the realms of the civilized world. Our vast civil 
war was at least a challenge to the attention of mankind, 
showing what military power was here, and what ample re- 
sources of money and skill, and of will to use them. The vast 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. I/ 

and rapid increase of wealth, the astonishing multiplication of 
the products of invention, the steady progress of the nation for a 
hundred years in order and in liberty all these had impressed 
the peoples, and even the princes of the earth, with a sense of 
the growing American power. But what has been best and most 
characteristic in private and social life here has had less 
chance of any general recognition. The outside world never 
could understand the sweetness, purity, and domestic felicity 
of the American family. Now for the first time Europe under- 
stands what American social life really is. Here is a plain, 
Christian household, suddenly and most unexpectedly lifted 
from private life to the highest position, made the focus on 
which are turned the converging thoughts and regards of the 
world ; and through the long period of suffering of him who 
is its head, from the bullet of the assassin, every word and 
action in that household has been audible and evident to the 
circles of mankind ; and there has not been one to be criticised 
or lamented. Living in the blaze of such publicity as almost 
no other household has known, mother and children have 
been those that we would fain have chosen to represent our 
families to the world ! Here is a man whose name had been 
unheard in England, and in other countries, until he was 
nominated for the office which he so honorably filled. Tender 
in his affection, wise in his counsel, modest and yet courageous 
and confident concerning his position, from the first of his sick- 
ness to the last of it there is not a word uttered by him, there 
is not an expression of feeling or thought, that we would have 
changed if we had had the opportunity. This was almost the 
grandest office that any man ever has had to accomplish for 
this country. 



I 8 EULOGY ON 

History will say then, as long as she preserves his name, that 
he represented fully and vividly the American spirit ; that he 
encouraged that spirit, by his example as well as his work ; that 
he interpreted American life to the world at large, and brought 
the world to recognize and honor it. Therefore he is recog- 
nized as a kind of mediator between the Christian people on 
this side of the Atlantic and the Christian people on the other ; 
who has interpreted to them what is deepest in our spiritual life, 
who has inspired their sympathy toward us touching the 
sensitive heart of the world, which mines of silver do not 
touch, which great battles do not touch, which great debates 
do not touch, but which suffering, bravely and patiently borne, 
character magnanimously and magnificently revealed alone 
could have reached. He has positively bound the civilized 
peoples in new bonds of kindliness and of friendship. 

One other thing of still grander significance has been ac- 
complished by the President in his dying, for the people to 
whose welfare his life was devoted. He has brought it nearer, 
in faith and prayer, to the God whom he worshipped, and has 
taught it where alone its true strength may be found ! No 
bullet smites the life of God. No change or waste diminishes 
His eternal vigor. On Him alone can peoples rest. Hang 
the planet on the sun and it swings in serene tranquility in its 
orbit. Try to suspend it on any palace or forum or church 
which man has builded, and how surely would it rush into 
nether abysses ? Hang the hope of the nation on God, who 
has shown such marvellous providence toward us in the past, 
and we are at rest; suspend it on the life and power of any 
man, the grandest, noblest of the land, and we have no hope 
that can be really secure and inspiring. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. \g 

With this new sense of the dependence of the nations upon 
God, and of the common spiritual life which thrills sympa- 
thetically on such an occasion around the world, whatsoever is 
fraternal and affectionate in our spirit, public or personal, 
should take a new impulse. Let us clasp hands around 
the grave of him who has passed from our supreme place ; 
who has joined the North and South, laying his dying hands 
upon them both, and saying : "Be friends forevermore !" and 
let us hear his voice from the heavens: "All you who are 
united in love and homage toward me, a mortal ascended to 
the heavens, be united in love, fraternal in affection and sym- 
pathy toward each other ! Let your union be consecrated by 
my death and ascension ! And forevermore dwell in joyful 
and intimate mutual esteem, and in common patriotic service 
and hope !" 

And as toward all in our own land, so toward the countries 
across the sea. We have hated England ; we have writhed 
beneath her taunts sometimes ; we have scorned her patroniz- 
ing sympathy. But now, when from the Queen on the throne 
to Ithe humblest assembly of mechanics, come messages of 
tender sympathy with our beloved Presidential family, with all 
the American people stricken by the loss of their chief magis- 
trate, how we recognize the true unity of the nation on that 
side and this ! 

As a closing word, let us remember as we travel onward 
what was the most precious of all things to him who is de- 
parted ! He held great offices, accomplished great successes ; 
in life he was crowned with all the honors which the land of 
his birth has to bestow. When strength was failing, and life 
was ending, he must have felt that the great heart of the na- 



2O EULOGY ON JAMES A. GARFIELD. 

tion, swelling and praying around his bedside, was the reward 
for every endeavor he ever had made and every sacrifice he 
had ever endured. But above all that, above the love of 
friends, above the love of the wife of his heart, was the an- 
ticipation of immortality through the love and grace of God. 
In one of the illustrated papers is a picture, singularly touch- 
ing and beautifnl, which represents him sitting by the window 
at Elberon, and gazing out upon the sea. He looked across it 
to another sea, of vaster expanse, of clearer glory ! By- gen- 
tlest hands, with carefulest skill, he who there sat had been 
brought without pain or jar thus far on his way to the Home 
beyond. By trains more noiseless and more swift, under the 
ministry of tenderer gentleness and of more celestial and con- 
summate skill, God took him up to his immortal abiding-place. 
We sorrow for ourselves, but not for him ! The faith in Christ 
which was with him the central fact of spirit and life, has now 
become vision, peace, and Paradise ! He stands henceforth, 
redeemed and purified, through Him who loved him, in tran- 
quil felicity, with illustrious companions, ' ' the glory and 
honor of the nations," among the immortal Sons of Light ! 



GEMS OF POETRY AND SONG. 



OUR HERO. 

Alas ! for Columbia, her chieftain low lying 

No more wields the scepter her tower and her pride, 

No solace but this for our heart's heavy sighing 
A hero he lived and a hero he died ! 

At first, through the dark, mazy jungle of learning, 
He crept or he leaped to the sunlight of truth, 

All barriers dispelling, discouagement spurning 
The Garfield we mourn was a hero in youth ! 

When Wrong and Oppression held sway in our borders, 
And the wild southern war-cloud ensanguined the sky, 

Obedient he sprang to his dear country's orders, 
His strong heart determined to conquer or die ! 

At the semblance of peace, in the hush of war-clamor, 
His genius and courage his countrymen claimed ; 

His keen eye detected the perilous glamour 
To dispel it, heroic the efforts he aimed ; 
3 



22 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

On field and on forum, in peace and in riot, 
His learning, discretion and valor rose high ; 

But grander the hero in Elberon quiet 

Who showed how a patriot and Christian can die ! 

So thin is the veil at the portal Elysian, 

So pure was the man, with the angels who trod, 

Transfigured he lived in the light of a vision, 
And felt the heart throbs of the Infinite God ! 

Oh ! bright be the bloom by the summer wind shaken, 
And green be the sod where his ashes repose ; 

For the name of our hero forever shall waken 
The homage of friends and the honor of foes ! 

This grave be the Mecca through myriad ages, 
Where pilgrims shall gather with reverent feet ! 

This life be a star upon history's pages, 

Where the glory of power and of gentleness meet ! 

Minnie Ward Patterson. 



IN MEMORIAM. 

Bow down, my soul ! a nation mourns her chief, 
A stricken people bend beneath the rod ; 

Auspicious hope gives place to hopeless grief, 
And strong hearts faint beneath the heavy load. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 23 

Farewell, great heart ! a long and last farewell ! 

A world, still hoping, watched thy latest breath : 
A world in sorrow hears thy funeral knell ; 

A world in anguish yields thee up to death. 

Thou art not dead ! God's chosen cannot die, 
Thy loving words yet fill our waiting ears ; 

Thy noble deeds on memory's page shall lie, 
Undimmed and fadeless by the flight of years. 

Blest be thy name ! thy memory ever blest ; 

A nation bends in homage at thy tomb, 
Thy godly life, a nation's rich bequest ; 

Thy Christian death a flower of fadeless bloom. 

O God ! to Thee, Controller of events, 
We bring our land in this her bitter hour ; 

Be Thou her Rock, her refuge and defense ; 

Guide Thou the Ship of State by Thy great power. 

W.J. Gregg. 



THE FIRE IS OUT. 
September 19, 1881. 

The bell struck once. "The fire is out," 

The listening people said. 
Again the stroke, and yet again ! 

The President was'dead ! 



24 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

Throughout the night the clanging bells 

Retold their tale of woe. 
"The fire is out!" Ah! long that flame 
Had flickered dim and low. 

" The fire is out !" So rang the bells ; 

Our hearts grew sick and cold ; 
A sleeping city waked to hear 
The message that they told. 

Out ! from the weary, wasted frame ; 

Out ! from that kindly eye. 
Oh, bravely must the man have lived 

Who could so bravely die. 

' ' The fire is out !" But the dust remains ; 

Yet over it shall rise 
The tribute of a Nation's love ; 
The fame that never dies. 

F. W. C. 



LAUREL CYPRESS. 

March 4, 1881. 

He stands at the Capitol's portal 

With lifted hand. 
The vows of God are upon him 

For the trust of the land ; 

Chief true and grand ! 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 25 

His manhood turns in its glory 

To womanhood. 
To his wife and mother he yearns 

From the multitude ; 

Heart true and good ! 

He crowns them before the people 

With kiss of love. 
See it, ye men, and shout, 

Full hearts will out ; 

Rend the heavens above ! 



September 23, 1881. 

He lies in the wide rotunda 
With folded palms ; 
" Wounded for our transgressions." 
Comrades in arms, 
Spread ye his pall, 
For the peace of all ! 

The thronging crowds have passed him, 

With falling tear ; 
A queenly woman's garland 

Upon his bier ; 

Knight without fear, 

Man brave and dear ! 



26 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

In this his martyr-glory 

Leave him alone ; 
For his kiss-crowned wife is coming, 

Though dead he has known 

She would come his own 

To share his throne. 

Louisa Parsons Hopkins. 



THE END. 

A wasp flew out upon our fairest son 

And stung him to the quick with poisoned shaft ; 

The while he chatted carelessly and laughed, 
And knew not of the fatal mischief done. 
And so this life, amid our love begun, 

Envenomed by the insect's hellish craft, 

Was drunk by death in one long, feverish draught, 
And he was lost the precious, priceless one ! 

Oh, mystery, of blind, remorseless fate ! 

Oh, cruel end of a most causeless hate ! 

That life so mean should murder life so great ! 
What js there left to us who think and feel, 
Who have no remedy and no appeal, 
But damn the wasp and crush him under heel ? 

/. G. Holland. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 

PRESIDENT GARFIELD. 

" E VENNI DAL MARTARIO A QUESTA PACE." 

These words the poet heard in Paradise, 
Uttered by one who, bravely dying here, 
In the true faith was living in that sphere 

Where the Celestial Cross of sacrifice 

Spread its protecting arms athwart the skies ; 
And, set thereon like jewels crystal clear, 
The souls magnanimous, that knew not fear, 

Flashed their effulgence on his dazzled eyes. 

Ah, me ! how dark the discipline of pain, 
Were not the suffering followed by the sense 
Of infinite rest and infinite release ! 

This is our consolation ; and again 

A great soul cries to us in our suspense; 

" I came from martyrdom unto this peace !" 

Henry W. Longfedow. 



AFTER THE BURIAL. 

I. 
Fallen with autumn's falling leaf 

Ere yet his summer's noon was past, 
Our friend, our guide, our trusted chief 
What words can match a woe so vast ! 



28 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

And whose the chartered claim to speak 
The sacred grief where all have part, 

When sorrow saddens every cheek 
And broods in every aching heart ? 

Yet Nature prompts the burning phrase 
That thrills the hushed and shrouded hall, 

The loud lament, the sorrowing praise, 
The silent tear that love lets fall. 

In loftiest verse, in lowliest rhyme 

Shall strive unblamed the minstrel choir, 

The singers of the newborn time 

And trembling age with outworn lyre. 

No room for pride, no place for blame 
We fling our blossoms on the grave, 

Pale, scentless, faded, all we claim, 
This only what we had we gave. 

Ah, could the grief of all who mourn 
Blend in one voice its bitter cry, 

The wail to heaven's high arches borne 
Would echo through the caverned sky. 

II. 

O happiest land whose peaceful choice 
Fills with a breath its empty throne ! 

God, speaking through thy people's voice, 
Has made that voice for once his own. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 2$ 

No angry passion shakes the State 

Whose weary servant seeks for rest, 

And who could fear that scowling hate 
Would strike at that unguarded breast ? 

He stands, unconscious of his doom. 

In manly strength, erect, serene 
Around him summer spreads her bloom ; 

He falls what horror clothes the scene ! 

How swift the sudden flash of woe 

Where all was bright as childhood's dream ! 

As if from heaven's etherial bow 

Had leaped the lightning's arrowy gleam. 

Blot the foul deed from history's page, 

Let not the all-betraying sun 
Blush for the day that stains an age 

When murder's blackest wreath was won. 

III. 
Pale on his couch the sufferer lies, 

The weary battle-ground of pain ; 
Love tends his pillow, science tries 

Her every art, alas ! in vain. 

The strife endures how long ! how long ! 

Life, death, seemed balanced in the scale, 
While round his bed a viewless throng 

Awaits each morrow's changing tale. 



3O MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

In realms the desert ocean parts 

What myriads watch with tear-filled eyes, 

His pulsebeats echoing in their hearts, 
His breathings counted with their sighs ! 

Slowly the stores of life are spent, 
Yet hope still battles with despair, 

Will heaven not yield when knees are bent ? 
Answer, O Thou that hearest prayer ! 

But silent is the brazen sky, 

On sweeps the meteor's threatening train, 
Unswerving Nature's mute reply, 

Bound in her adamantine chain. 

Not ours the verdict to decide 

Whom death shall claim or skill shall save ; 
The hero's life though Heaven denied 

It gave our land a martyr's grave. 

Nor count the teaching vainly sent 

How human hearts their griefs may share, 

The lesson woman's love has lent 

What hope may do, what faith can bear ! 

Farewell ! the leaf strown earth enfolds 
Our stay, our pride, our hopes, our fears, 

And autumn's golden sun beholds 
A nation bowed, a world in tears. 

Oliver Wendell Holmes. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 3 

AFTER ALL. 

Despite the prayers and tears, and earnest pleading, 

And piteous protest o'er a hero's fall, 
Despite the hopeful signs, our hearts misleading, 
Death cometh after all ! 

Over the brightest scenes are clouds descending; 

The flame soars highest ere its deepest fall ; 
The glorious day has all too swift an ending : 
Night cometh after all ! 

O'er bloom or beauty now in our possession 

Is seen the shadow of the funeral pall ; 
Though Love and Life make tearful intercession, 
Death cometh after all ! 



*ODE TO THE ASSASSINATION. 

Veil, now, O Liberty, thy blushing face, 

At the fell deed that thrills a startled world ; 

When fair Columbia weeps in dire disgrace 
And bows in sorrow o'er the banner furled. 



* A prize offered by a I-ondon weekly for the best poem on the assassination 
of President Gartield, was awarded to the author of these verses. 



32 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

No graceless tyrant falls by Vengeance here, 
'Neath the wild justice of the secret knife; 

Nor red Ambition ends its grim career, 
And expiates its horrors with its life. 

Not here does rash Revenge, misguided, burn 
To free a nation from the assassin's dart: 

Or roused Despair in angry madness turn, 
And tear its freedom from the despot's heart. 

But where blest Liberty so widely reigns, 
And Peace and Plenty make a smiling land : 

Here the mad wretch its fair, white record stains, 
And blurs its beauty with a bloody hand. 

Here the elect of millions, and the pride 

Of those who own his mild and peaceful rule 

Here Virtue sinks and yields the crimson tide 
Beneath the vile unreason of a fool. 



HIS FIRST SABBATH IN HEAVEN. 

How calm is the glow of this first Sabbath morn, 
Since with hearts stricken down in their grief, 

In his palm-covered coffin we laid him away 
Our martyred illustrious chief. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 33 

What a change since his last suffering Sabbath on earth 

Those groans for that rapturous song 
Which only the ransomed of Jesus can know 

The blood washed ! the glorified throng ! 

The victor in Christ over death has prevailed ! 

And oh, how divine his reward ! 
Without one faint shadow he seeth unvailed 

The glorious face of the Lord. 

Oh, vision of visions ! the sight of that face 

Would for ages of misery atone ! 
The lovely Redeemer of Adam's lost race 

The conqueror of Death on His throne ! 

Were the gates left ajar as he passed to his rest ? 

Were some wandering rays downward borne ? 
Such a heavenly radiance seems to invest 

The skies on his first Sabbath morn. 

But, chastened and sorrowing nation, oh learn 

The lessons our Father would give ; 
From the ways that have grieved his good spirit return, 

Repent, seek His mercy and live. 

Then for the bright light now removed from our sides, 

That has left us in darkness to mourn, 
New stars for our hope and our guidance shall rise, 

Till breaks the millennial dawn. 

5. L. Little. 



34 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

HOME AT MENTOR. 

44 O this is wondrous sweet ! 
To rest so stilly in the long green grass, 
And watch the lake blown vapors as they pass ; 
To catch the throb and beat 
Of busy baby feet , 

And feel myself once more at home, at home, 
No more beside the fateful sea to roam, 
Sweet Mentor home ! 

44 I have had bitter strife 

Some hateful dream. Me seemed some evil thing 
Came swift behind as I was hastening 
To clasp my poor, pale wife, 
Wrestling so sore for life, 
And stung me like an adder, so I lay 
And longed for home and Mentor day by day, 
Sweet Mentor home ! 

44 Me seemed this slimy thing 

Wound round and round me with its loathsome touch, 
So that I sighed, and sobbed, and sorrowed much, 
That none would come to wrest 
Its fangs from off my breast, 
And I set my feet once more toward the spot 
That I have cherished in my holiest thought, 
Sweet Mentor home ! 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 35 

" And as the day went by 
The awful horror slowly crept and crept ; 
My stricken heart stood still, or wildly leapt ; 
My flesh grew parched and dry ; 
There rose a dimness even to my eye, 
That like the eagle's had withstood the sun, 
My feeble lips scarce name a name save one, 
Sweet Mentor home ! 

" O blessed home! Come reach 
That book, my Mollie, that you love so well 
The Charles and Mary Lamb let Shakespeare tell 

His matchless stories through their gentler speech ; 
And as I read, my boys, sit silent each, 
While Grandmama beside me smiles and knits, 
And busy with her cares our mother flits 
Sweet Mentor home ! 

" O this is rest, I ween ! 
After the storm and strife the cloudless calm, 
After the stifling streets, the breath of balm ; 
The slopes of living green, 
The daisied dells atween ; 
The bending, blessing Buckeye sky above 
Around, the sheltering arms of sylvan love ; 
Sweet Mentor home !" 

O happy, happy soul ! 
What Hope came down to kiss thy dying eyes, 



36 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

And bid thy dear old home before thee rise ? 
What whispering voice 
Bids us rejoice, 

That after life's sad dreaming has been past, 
There comes the vision of our rest at last ? 
Sweet Mentor home ! 

Kate Brozvnlee Sherwood. 



IN MEMORIAM. 

AT THE WINDOW. 

Elberon, N. J. , Sept. 13 and Sept. 20, 1881, 
Beside the window, looking o'er the sea, 
He lay, on whom the people's heart was set 

As never yet 

The hearts of millions in the mystery 
Of love and longing to one heart were bound ; 

Encompassing him 'round 
With ceaseless vigil, till each whispered word 

The wide world heard 
And every weary groan 
Was echoed by a nation's sympathising moan. 

Beside the window looking o'er the sea 
He lay, in that unequal fight with death ; 

And every breath 
That blew across his couch we prayed might be 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 37 

A minister of strength to him again 

And victory over pain, 
As in his heart he felt anew the joy 

That as a boy 

Was his, when on his dreams 
The far off ocean rose to tempt him with its gleams. 

Beside the window looking o'er the sea 
He lay, and heard the restless billows roar 

Along the shore ; 

And far across the waves where silently 
The distant waters stretched, his eager eye 

Sought the encircling sky, 
Or lingered where with snowy wings outspread 

The swift ships sped 
Nor knew whose longing gaze 
Was following them, unseen, upon their devious ways. 

Beside the window looking o'er the sea 

He lay, but uttered not what thoughts awoke, 

What voices spoke, 

Through those days shadowed by eternity, 
Within his struggling heart. Yet as a star 

In silence from afar 
Sheds o'er the heaving deep that lies below 

Its tranquil glow, 
So on his troubled breast 
The light of some far realm of quiet seemed to rest. 

4 



38 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

Beside the window looking o'er the sea 

He lay, nor knew that all the world was bright 

With that soft light 

Of love and courage, strength and purity, 
That from his chamber with such radiance streams 

To cast its cheering beams 
O'er every sufferer's path and show the way 

Through night to day, 
And 'mid the wrecks of earth 
Disclose the budding honors of immortal birth. 



Beside the window looking o'er the sea 
He lay, and felt anew each earthly bond 

And every fond 

Affection of his home more tenderly 
Because so soon to part. And all his hope 

Grew wider in its scope 
At that fell touch which turned it all to dust, 

And yet in trust 
He yielded to his doom 
And with unfaltering step went downward to the tomb. 



Beside the window looking o'er the sea 

He lay, eyes closed and hand upon the breast 

At last at rest. 
Without the changeless ocean ceaselessly 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 39 

Sobbed on the beach, but not for him its wail ; 

His honors cannot fail ; 
The stars of earthly fame that burn for him 

Can ne'er grow dim : 
For us the mournful cry 
Who seek in vain below that which has passed on high. 

Beside the window looking o'er the sea 
He lies no more ; to-day with loving hand 

Far from the strand, 
Amid a nation's grief his form will be 
Laid in its grave ; but his heroic soul 

So fashioned to control, 
Enthroned above among the eternal spheres, 

Through distant years, 
Ruling with gentle sway, 
Shall guide the land he loved upon its onward way. 

Beside the window looking o'er the sea 

He still shall lie, wearing his sorrow's crown ; 

And gazing down, 

As from pure realms of light, with vision free, 
Across the troubled waves of human life 

And all its bitter strife, 
The noise of faction at his feet shall cease, 

Awed into peace ; 
And purified by pain 
The stricken nation from his death new life shall gain. . 



4O MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

AT THE GRAVE. 

Cleveland, 0. , September 26, 1 88 1 . 

The spring of hope has changed for us 

To autumn's dull decay, 
The summer bloom and sweet perfume 

Seem now so far away. 

Was ever earth so bright and fair ? 

Was ever hope so high ? 
Did angel song once float along 

A clear and tranquil sky ? 

Did time seem turning back once more 

To bring the age of gold, 
When peace on earth, of heavenly birth 

Good will to men foretold ? 

So dark to-day the heavens are hung, 
The world so changed and sad, 

That like a dream those visions seem 
Of days that once were glad. 

With weary step and troubled heart 

We wander to arid fro, 
While all the strife of human life 

Seems like an idle show. 

Was it for this, our spirits cry, 

He felt the sacred fire, 
And caught new light from every height, 

To draw the world's desire ? 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 4! 

Was it for this, from low degree 
He wrought through toilsome years, 

And won the crown of great renown, 
And sat among his peers ? 

Was it for this that wisdom came, 

And skill and gentle force, 
That brave and good at last he stood 

To guide the nation's course ? 

The seas lay calm about the prow, 

No storm-cloud hung behind, 
He gave the word, the vessel heard 

And leaped before the wind. 

Ah ! who could deem that danger lurked 

Within those peaceful skies ; 
With sudden shock the heart of rock 

Is rent, and prostrate lies ! 

A thousand swords had left their sheath 

That life from ill to guard, 
From countless fields unnumbered shields 

Had leaped to be his ward. 

Had there been one, but only one 

Of all that mighty host, 
Our leader slain, were ours again 

And ruling at his post. 



42 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

It could not be ; a nation's tears 
Must mourn a nation's guilt; 

And factious strife must plunge the knife 
Of murder to the hilt. 

God pity and forgive us all 

For bitter thought and speech; 

God in His love look from above 
And heal his people's breach. 

Then, from the tears we shed to-day 

About his open tomb, 
In summer hours perennial flowers 

Shall spring in deathless bloom. 

Sweet flowers of peace o'er all the land 

Shall God in mercy sow, 
To wreathe the brow, so anguished now, 

That for our sakes lays low. 

Rev. Jospeh A. Ely. 



ON THE DEATH OF PRESIDENT 
GARFIELD. 

I see the Nation, as in antique ages, 

Crouched with rent robes, and ashes on her head ; 
Her mournful eyes are deep with dark presages, 

Her soul is haunted by a formless dread ! 



JAMES A. GARFIEI.D. 43 

"OGod!" she cries, "why hast Thou left me bleeding, 
Wounded and quivering to the heart's hot core? 

Can fervid faith, winged prayer, and anguished pleading 
Win balm and pity from Thy heavens no more? 

" I knelt, I yearned, in agonizing passion, 

Breathless to catch Thy ' still small voice ' from far; 

Now Thou hast answered, but in awful fashion, 
And stripped our midnight of its last pale star. 

" What tears are given me in o'ermastering measure, 
From fathomless floods of Marah, darkly free, 

While that pure life I held my noblest treasure 
Is plunged forever in death's tideless sea ! 

" Hark to those hollow sounds of 'lamentation, 

The muffled music, the funereal bell; 
From far and wide on wings of desolation 

Float wild and wailful voices of farewell. 

"The North-land mourns her grief in full libation, 
Outpoured for him who died at Victory's goal ; 

And the great West, in solemn ministration, 
May not recall her hero's shining soul. 

" Yea, the North mourns ; the West, a stricken mother, 
Droops as in sackcloth with veiled brow and mouth.; 

And what old strifes, what waning hates, can smother 
The generous heart-throbs of the pitying South ? 



44 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

" Did doubt remain ? she crushed its latest ember 
At that stern moment when the victim's fall 

Changed loveliest summer to a grim December, 
Paled by the hiss of Guiteau's murderous ball. 

" Thus by the spell of one vast grief united 

(Where cypress boughs their death-cold shadows wave), 

My sons, I trust, a holier faith have plighted, 
And sealed the compact by his sacred grave." 

'Twas thus she spoke ; but still in prostrate sorrow, 
While lowlier earthward drooped her brow august. 

To-day is dark; vague darkness clouds to-morrow, 
Ah ! in God's hand the Nations are but dust ! 

Paul Hamilton Hayne. 



IN PACE REQUIESCAT. 
Hush, hush, speak softly, 
The conflict now has reached the end ; 
Life lies vanquished on the ground, 
Death with victor's wreath is crowned, 
Oh, angels stoop Oh, God defend ! 

Toll, toll, toll, toll, 
Ye brazen bells of woe and dread ! 

Thy requiem send throughout all lands, 
Sweep on to distant ocean strands, 
He lieth silent lieth dead. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 45 

Gather, gather clouds, 
Oh darkest clouds of sombre night ; 

Lock the golden, smiling stars 

Safe behind thy prison bars, 
Grief wisheth not nor beareth light. 

Droop, droop, Freedom's flag 

Float not thy folds majestic, proud ; 
Lie thou still across the breast 
Of him the country loveth best 

It is a well-befitting shroud. 

Yet, oh Columbia, free 
Up from the Past there rings the cry ; 

" God reigns the Government still lives !" 

In the nation's heart, that honor gives, 
He " only sleeps," he cannot die. 



ONE THAT WILL BE MEMORABLE FOR 
GENERATIONS. 

So back to earth, with fitting dirge, returns 
More sacred mold than sleeps in royal urns ! 
A stricken nation bends with grief to lay 
Upon her noble dead the amaranthine bay ! 
Of freedom's land a loved and laureled son ! 
The peer of Lincoln and of Washington. 
5 



46 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

His virtues 

Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against 
The deep damnation of his taking-off ; 
And pity, like a naked new-born babe, 
Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, hors'd 
Upon the sightless couriers of the air, 
Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, 
That tears shall drown the wind. 



ELBERON. 

Our brother craved a change, and by the sea, 

With calm, clear eyes he saw the ships go by, 
Receding, coming, like the noiseless hours 

That trace the measureless eternity. 
He slept to dream of morn, or waking, turned 

To see God's mighty work in light unroll ; 
The mist-stained stars still true, but faintly, burned, 

And sky and ocean met in one vast scroll. 
If ever mind the sea's inscription read, 

That pure, deep mind with righteous Heaven com- 
muned. 
The slender strip of shore, like life near sped, 

But all the rest with lofty hope attuned. 
In love he sleeps, alone reprieved the pain, 
That strangely surges round the world, again and yet 
again. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 47 

LAKE VIEW. 

Once more the deep-stained line of blue meets blue. 

The restful waves in graceful motion curl ; 
The clouds less rugged, and a tenderer hue 

Tinges the scene as day begins to furl 
Its sunset banners. Here his eye has viewed 

The lordly lake whose whisper was of home. 
Here he has known, in silent, solemn mood, 

The ashes of his love in time must come. 
Full soon a shaft shall rise and many a crew, 

With blurring eyes, will watch it from the deck. 
" His hands, like ours," they'll say, "hard labor knew. 

That column marks a glory, not a wreck. 
He shows the power of virtue. Bless the land 
That lifts the worthy toiler up, and trusts his sinewy 
hand." 



THE QUESTIONING. 

What is the lesson ? Tears. Heart-molding tears, 

Known long ere history kept its blotted leaves. 
The Gentlest One of all was pierced by spears 

Of human pride and hatred, 'twixt two thieves. 
He taught the creed of love. That was too much. 

The age taught vengeance. It has passed away. 
Go ask the veteran, struggling on his crutch, 

" Fought you for self? " " True men fight not that 
way." 



4Q MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

What child is born without the agony 

Of motherhood ? Atonement ? 'Tis the law. 
He whom we mourn no more on earth we see. 

Yet "much of Garfield's left." His name can draw 
Nations together. Inter-knit, it dwells 
A motive in the beating heart, whence human destiny 
wells. 

/. W. M. 



QUEEN VICTORIA'S GIFT. 

From palace gate she looked across 
The sea, and saw a land in tears, 
And, calling back a few short years, 

Was bowed with us and wept our loss. 

True sister, mother, widow, queen, 
Thy love has touched a nation's heart 
In sorrow thus to bear a part, 

Thy grace and queenliness are seen. 

Thy gift breathed o'er our martyr-dead 
Till ashes were with ashes laid, 
And two fraternal peoples paid 

Their tribute with uncovered head. 

All precious jewels fit and rare 

May sparkle in a diadem ; 

Above all these there is a gem 
That only royal souls may wear. 



JAMES A. GAKFIELD. 49 

Dear oneness of all bosoms now, 
Since loss of Prince and President 
Has tears and prayers and spirits blent 

As all in common sorrow bow. 

What deep and wondrous ministry ! 

Not eloquence of noblest lips 

Can speak the sacred fellowships 
From love and loss and sympathy. 

F. D. 



PRESIDENT GARFIELD. 

The hush of the sick room ; the muffled tread ; 

Fond, questioning eye; mute lip, and listening ear ; 
Where wife and children watch, 'twixt hope and fear, 
A father's, husband's, living-dying bed ! 
The hush of a great nation, when its head 

Lies stricken ! Lo, along the streets he's borne, 
Pale, thro' rank'd crowds, this gray September morn, 
'Mid straining eyes, sad brows unbonneted, 
And reverent speechlessness ! a "people's voice!" 
Nay, but a people's silence ! thro' the soul 
Of the wide world its subtler echoes roll. 
O brother nation ! England, for her part, 
Is with thee ; God willing, she, whose heart 
Throbb'd with thy pain, shall with thy joy rejoice. 
LONDON SPECTATOR, Sept. 6. A. C. A. 



$0 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

REJOICE. 

"BEAR ME OUT OF THE BATTLE, FOR LO ! i AM SORELY 

WOUNDED." 
From out my deep, wide-bosomed West 

Where unnamed heroes hew the way 
For worlds to follow, with stern zest 

Where gnarled old maples make array, 
Deep-scarred from Red Men gone to rest 

Where pipes the quail, where squirrels play 
Through tossing trees, with nuts for toy, 
A boy steps forth, clear-eyed and tall, 
A bashful boy, a soulful boy, 

Yet comely as the sons of Saul 

A boy, all friendless, poor, unknown, 
Yet heir apparent to a throne. 

Lo! Freedom's bleeding sacrifice ! 

So like some tall oak tempest-blown 
Beside the storied stream, he lies 

Now at the last, pale-browed and prone. 
A nation kneels with streaming eyes 

A nation supplicates the Throne 
A nation holds him by the hand 

A nation sobs aloud at this. 
The only dry eyes in the land 

Now at the last I think are his, 

Why, we should pray, God knoweth best, 
That this grand, patient soul should rest. 



JAMES A. GARFIEI.D. 51 

The world is round. The wheel has run 

Full circle. Now, behold a grave 
Beneath the old, loved trees is done. 

The druid oaks lift up and wave 
A solemn welcome back. The brave 

Old maples murmur, every one, 
" Receive him Earth !" In centre land, 

As in the centre of each heart 
As in the hollow of God's hand, 
The coffin sinks. And with it part 

All party hates! Now, not in vain 
He bore his peril and hard pain. 



Therefore, I say, rejoice ! I say 

The lesson of his life was much 
This boy that won, as in a d ly, 

The world's heart utterly ; a touch 
Of tenderness and tears : the page 

Of history grows rich from such ; 
His name the nation's heritage 

But O ! as some sweet angel's voice 
Spake this brave death that touched us all. 
Therefore, I say, rejoice ! rejoice ! ! 

Run high the flags ! Put by the pall ! 
Lo ! all is for the best for all ! 

Joaquin Miller. 



52 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

REQUIEM. 

Ohio gave her noblest son, 

Her best, her bravest, purest one, 

To be the nation's head ; 
She did not think, she could not guess, 
That never more his feet would press 
His native soil ; that he would come, 
Shrouded, and motionless and dumb, 
And dead ! 

Thus once was yours, O Illinois, 
The pride of giving, and the joy, 

The black, the bitter pain, 
Of taking to your cradling heart 
Dust, of your dust to form a part ; 
The nation sent your murdered one, 
As it has sent to us our son 
Both slain ! 

He grappled with his direful fate, 
And daunted death, that lay in wait 

For seizure on such prey, 
Till death was won to be his friend, 
And long forbore to bring the end ; 
And as the day rolled slowly by, 
We said, " O, God he will not die, 
But stay." 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 53 

Raised to the honors of the earth, 
He, with the treasures- of his hearth, 

Went forth to be our guide, 
To be our chief, we thought, for years, 
And now, alas ! we are in tears 
Above a, wan, unconscious face, 
That we, in a sepulchral place, 
Must hide. 

Ye black-draped banners, waving low, 
The world is witness to our woe, 

And monarchs o'er the sea 
Behold your wavering, star-sown blue, ' 
Heavy with mourning's sable hue, 
For him, who, could he speak, would say 
Far wiser, sweeter words to-day 
Than we. 

Since Lincoln died there has not been 
So great a grief, so great a sin, 

So terrible a crime ; 

And yet " God reigns " is true as when 
This kingliest of kingly men 
Stilled a mob's frenzy, and the wrath 
That would have left a storm-strewn path, 
One time. 

Come home !" dear son, Ohio's breast 
Was ne'er so wounded, nor so blest, 

As it will be when thou 

6 



54 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

Shalt yield thy stainless clay to her 
Who was thy truest worshiper ; 
Within these borders thou shalt sleep, 
While earth's brown coverlet shall sweep 
Thy brow. 

Behind that wide brow's massive wall, 
A soul, that man cannot recall, 

God had ordained to dwell. 
Peace be to thee, thou weary one ; 
Thy pain is past, thy work is done, 
Beyond the sunset hills of life 
Thou waitest mother, orphans, wife, 
Farewell ! 

'Tis a mighty lamentation sends its wailing through the 

air, 

For a deeply stricken Nation is in mourning every- 
where ; 
And the South and North together bend beside an 

awful bier, 
And, enclasping hands forever, seal their friendship with 

a tear. 
We have thrust each other sorely on the battle-fields of 

yore, 
We have turned the green earth ruddy with a crimson 

tide of gore ; 
But the past is unconsidered in the shadow of the 

pall, 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 55 

That, encurtaining our chieftain, has brought sadness to 

us all. 
While the minute guns are firing, and the death car 

onward rolls, 
We are marching, marching, marching to the camping 

ground of souls. 
In the temple, whose high arches ring with heavenly 

greeting song, 
We shall know why she " must suffer " who has borne 

this " cruel wrong ;" 
We shall know why our beloved in his hour of triumph 

fell, 

And a world was left to wonder at this sorrowful 
Farewell. 

Mrs. Laura G. W. White. 



ILLINOIS TO HER BEREAVED SISTER. 

Ohio, weep ! let tears of blood 
Fall from your eyes like rain, 

And we your sister States with you 
Will mourn your martyred slain. 

Aye, weep, and don your sombrest garb, 

Habiliments of woe; 
For never can your troubled heart 

A keener anguish know. 



$6 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

Oh, weep ; nor sit with clasped hands 

And eyes so full of pain. 
For tears will soothe the fevered brow, 

Will ease the tortured brain. 

We, too, are mothers, and our hearts 
Have had, alas, to mourn 

The loss of those most dearly lov'd, 
For they can ne'er return. 

In vain we plead, in vain caress, 
Thou canst do naught but moan, 

For from thy lips no words escape 
Save f hese, " No other one." 

We look around in mute despair, 
We know not what to do ; 

Can no one break this spell, we ask, 
None cause the tears to flow ? 

A silence reigns, when from our midst 
Steps one with royal mien ; 

A golden crown upon her head 
Her robe a golden sheen. 

With clasped hands and bated breath 

We pray success attend, 
For if she fails we dare not think 

Of what may be the end. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 57 

One glance above, as from her eye 

A tear in silence steals, 
Then with her queenly, regal grace, 

Advancing, stooping, kneels. 

Ohio, sister, say not so, 

Say not "No other one 
Hath grief like mine so deep to bear," 

I, too, have lost a son. 

A son, indeed, beloved by all, 

To me he was most dear ; 
But by the dark assassin's hand 

I am left mourning here. 

I said at first, as now say you, 

This grief I cannot bear ; 
Turn whichsoever way I would 

It all was dark despair. 

But now at last I have found peace, 

I neither sigh nor moan ; 
For I have found the strength to say, 

O Lord, Thy will be done. 

The years have come and gone, 'tis true, 

Since he, my son, was slain ; 
So years will come again to you, 

And time will deaden pain. 



58 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

I loved him then. I love him yet. 
i J 

And I will say to you, 
Love him not less, nor him forget, 
For this you can not do. 

But look around, and when you e'er 

Shall see another's woe, 
Reach out a helping hand to her. 

And sympathy bestow. 

And when in grief you're tempted sore 
To say, " No other one," 

think of me and try to pray, 
"O Lord, Thy will be done." 

The spell is broken ; with the tears 
Fast falling down her cheeks, 

Ohio clasps her sister's hand 
And tremulously speaks. 

1 will remember your brave son, 

And how he came to die ; 
And this will be to us a bond 
Of closer sympathy. 

And children now unborn will tell, 

In song or eloquence, 
Of those whom we so deeply mourn, 

Our martyred Presidents. 

Illinois. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 59 

GARFIELD, PRESIDENT OF THE PEOPLE. 

DIED SEPTEMBER 1 9, 1 88 I. 

What is this silence, that calls ? 

What is this deafness, that hears ? 
The silence is Death. Like a voice it falls ; 

It rings in the heedless ears 

That never shall hearken again 

To the words of our blame or praise, 

Nor the low-hushed moan of a Nation's pain 
As it rolls through the darkened days ! 

And the motionless body must yield 
To the spell of that hushed command. 

Oh, that one of us, dying, had been the shield 
To save that life for our land ! 

Man that was trusted of men 

Brave, and not fearing to die 
More than to face life's meanness, when 

It clamored its partisan lie ! 

Though you leave us, we lose you not ! 

In the Republic you live 
Sacred, and part of its deathless lot, 

For whose life your life you give. 



6O MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

Garfield the name so plain, 

The name we know so well ! 
The name we shall never forget again, 

Of the man who for honesty fell ! 

Like another Winkelreid, 

You drew to yourself the spears 
Of tyrannous hate, though yourself must bleed ; 

And left us our pride and our tears. 

Legacy meet and rare, 

Of one who dared to be pure ! 
In the hearts of the people, who love what is fair, 

That precious renown shall endure. 

O sorrow that falls like a stone 

In the midst of the calm of our peace, 
As the waves of pity around you have grown, 
So may our truth increase ! 

George Parsons Lathrop. 
ENGLAND, September 20, 1881. 



THE SOLDIER BY THE SEA. 

Above the sea the stars were gently shining 

And twinkling in the night, 
As life and death with brawny arms entwining 

Wrestled in weary fight. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 6l 

Among the waves the winds were lightly sporting 

And laughing out aloud, 
While death defeating life, and heaven thwarting, 

Had ready its white shroud. 

The whispering waters hushed their idle prattle, 

The' wild winds held their breath, 
To watch the ebb and flow of the fierce battle 

Waged between life and death. 

The earth and sky were silent in their sorrow 

The end had come at last 
And burning tears of nature ere the morrow 

Told that the worst was past. 

A soldier's soul had left its suffering pillow 

And gone out on the sea 
Toward the stars so far beyond the billow 

Which beckon you and me. 

Upon the sea the stars were softly shining 

And shimmering in the night, 
As winds and waves their gentle arms entwining 

Wept sadly at the sight. 

David Graham Adec, 



GARFIELD. 

He has fallen asleep. He is resting at last ! 
The pulse has grown still, and the fever is past. 



62 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

He suffers no longer in heart or in brain, 
And the pain that so racked him shall come not again ! 
He has fallen asleep, 

And the fever is past ; 
Thank god as you weep, 
He is resting at last ! 

O Mother, look now on the face of your boy, 
The stay of your age, and your pride and your joy, 
And plead through your sobs for one smile or one word 
Of the lips locked in silence, unheeding unheard ! 
His dreams ere he died 

Were of home and of you, 
And he laughed and he cried 
As he dreamed of you, too ! 

And you, stricken woman, and wife of his heart ! 
What word did he speak ere he turned to depart ? 
Was it not the old love whose unwavering truth 
In your old-growing hearts shone as bright as in youth ? 
Yet so soundly he sleeps 

That he heeds not your moan, 
Nor the daughter who weeps 
With her brothers alone. 

O country he loved, and who loved in return ! 

Let the flame in your mighty heart leap up and burn, 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 63 

As you look on your son, who, in Liberty's name, 
Must mix his pure blood with the blood of your shame 
There he lies unredressed ! 

Without reason or cause 
Of his life dispossessed 
Without justice or laws ! 

Did he fall in the right ? Was he other than just ? 
Did he love not his neighbor as God said he must ? 
No ! Even the dastard whose hand laid him low, 
Though he pales as he answers, will answer you No. 
Stricken down ! There he lies 

In the gray of the dawn ! 
And with smiles in his eyes 
His assassin lives on ! 

Anonymous. 



QUEEN VICTORIA'S WREATH, 

PLACED ON THE LID OF PRESIDENT GARFIELD's COFFIN. 

In a land beyond the billows broad and deep and blue, 
Sits the mighty queen of England, tender, great and true. 
From across the sea and summer freighted winds have 

blown 
Stories of the stars of diamonds, palace, prince and 

throne. 



64 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

We have read in golden pages of the gracious queen ; 
How the very sunlight glistens where her face is seen. 
How the English roses richer spring beneath her feet, 
As she treads the palace gardens or the vale's retreat. 



Heraldry and deeds of valor down the Brunswick line, 
Lose their splendor in the glory of the humble shrine, 
Where she kneels to breathe a blessing, with her eyes 

of love 
Lifted to the God of Heaven on that throne above. 



But we never felt the tender touch of her fair hand, 
Till the shadow of a sorrow fell across our land ; 
Till it smote the mighty forehead of our nation's chief, 
And the day of brightest glory darkened into grief. 

Then it was her queenly bosom shared with us our pain, 
And her messages of comfort were not all in vain. 
But the token that shall never from our hearts be hid, 
Was her simple wreath of flowers on the coffin lid. 



They have faded ere these verses find a humble place, 
But the sweet deed not the tempests even can efface 
While the memory of our martyr president's great name 
Holds a page upon the records in the halls of fame. 

Geo. W. Ferret, 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 65 

AT THE PRESIDENT'S GRAVE. 

SEPTEMBER 26, 1881. 

All summer long the people knelt 
And listened at the sick man's door : 

Each pang which that pale sufferer felt 

Throbbed through the land, from shore to shore. 

And as the awful hour drew nigh, 

What breathless watching, night and day ! 

What tears ! what prayers ! Great God on high 
Have we forgotten how to pray ! 

O broken-hearted, widowed one, 

Forgive us if we press too near ! 
Dead is our husband, father, son 

For we are all one family here. 

And thou remember, though relief 

Come not till thine own day grow dim, 

That never, in this world of grief, 

Has mortal man been mourned like him. 

EPITAPH. 

A man not perfect but of heart 

So high, of such heroic rage, 
That even his hopes became a part 

And parcel of earth's heritage. 

Anonymous. 



66 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 



SEPTEMBER 19, 1881. 

In their dark House of Cloud 
The three weird sisters toil till time be sped. 

I. 

Clotho. How long, O sister, how long 
Ere the weary task is done ? 
How long, O sister, how long 
Shall the fragile thread be spun ? 

Lac/iesis. Tis mercy that stays her hand, 
Else she had cut the thread ; 
She is a woman too, 

Like her who kneels by his bed ! 

Alropos. Patience ! the end is come ; 

He shall no more endure : 
See ! with a single touch ! 
My hand is swift and sure ! 

II. 

First Angel Listen ! what was it fell 

An instant since on my ear 
A sound like the throb of a bell 
From yonder darkling sphere ! 

Second Angel. The planet where mortals dwell ! 

I hear it not . . . nay, I hear ! 
A sound of sorrow and dole ! 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 67 

First Angel. Listen ! It is the knell 
Of a passing soul ! 
The midnight lamentation 
Of a stricken nation 

For its Chieftain's soul ! 

Thomas Bailey Aldricli. 



IN MEMORIAM. 

Our best, our bravest, tenderest, dearest loved, 

Our knightliest son, untimely to the grave 
By bitter stroke of cruelest fate removed, 

Not all our love nor all our prayers could save. 
For weeks we fought the awful, stealthy foe, 

That menaced him with quivering poisoned dart 
For weary weeks, till hope beat faint and low, 

And gloom lay heavy on the nation's heart. 

Our love for Garfield mated with our pride ; 

.He towered majestic far above the throng, 
Like some tall pine that on a mountain side, 

By wrestle with the storms grows lithe and strong. 
Heroic motherhood his cradle rocked ; 

Heroic struggle nerved his ardent youth ; 
No siren false his stainless manhood mocked ; 

To simple duty faithful, true as truth. 



68 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

His was the leader's calm, undaunted soul, 

Too self-restrained to sway at passion's breath ; 
His the grand fortitude that took control, 

And smiled a challenge in the face of death. 
What matchless patience ! Tried with utmost pain, 

By anguish tortured, under weakness crushed, 
Martyr and saint, he bore the fearful strain, 

Till in that presence lesser griefs were hushed. 

Above his pulseless form what shadows bend ! 

What glory wraps him, coffined, could we see ! 
The victors of the ages call him friend 

Of Lincoln, Washington, the peer is he. 
Columbia's hand shall write his name in light, 

Her sons shall lisp it by the hearth's red flame, 
And generations hence shall measure height 

By this great man's white altitude of fame. 

Still must we weep ! We stand, the Thirty-eight, 

Joined hand in hand, with broken hearts to-day. 
The mournful guns proclaim the mourning state 

Its Chief, so foully, strangely reft away. 
Droop lowlier, flags, to symbolize our woe ! 

Toll slowlier, bells, and time you with our tears ! 
Tread softly, soldiers ! There are those shall go 

Uncomforted through all their lonely years. 

Our leader fallen ! But his work remains 
Unfinished as he left it. East and West 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 69 

And South and North arise the stern refrains 
That call his country to the hour of test. 

No dwarfed ideal can we brook, who hear 
His voice serene and steady from the skies. 

The listening air throbs palpitant, and clear 
Around us glows the fire of sacrifice. 



IN MEMORIAM JAMES A. GARFIELD. 

Gone, our loved, our honored chieftain, 
Lowly droops the Nation's head, 

While far o'er the whole world's bosom 
Weep the people for their dead. 

Gone, with all the radiant future, 
Sweet as dream that poets sing ; 

Stately halls that flung their portals 
Wide to welcome in a king, 

Now are shrouded deep in mourning; 

Flags at half-mast sadly rise 
But, ah ! stricken hearts behold them 

Pointing ever toward the skies ! 

Garfield lives ! the brave, the good, 

Hearts like his can never die, 
Only gone from earth's green fields 

To the greener ones on high. 



7O MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

Bring the palm leaves and the roses 
From the sunny southern clime, 

Place them with New England violets. 
And the laurel round them twine. 

Fitting emblems for the soldier, 

For the scholar, and the son, 
Nobly fighting in life's battles, 

Grandly was the victory won. 

From his sleeping dust shall daisies 

Mingle with for-get-me-not, 
And the odorous summer roses 

Glorify the honored spot. 

And through all the countless ages 

God will grander records keep 
Of the brave heart, hushed and silent ; 

Sweetly, then, oh ruler, sleep ! 

Abbie C. NT Ke ever. 



J. A. G. 

Our sorrow sends its shadow round the Earth. 
So brave, so true ! A hero from his birth ! 
The plumes of Empire moult, in mourning draped 
The lightning's message by our tears is shaped. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 

Life's vanities that blossom for an hour 
Heap on his funeral car their fleeting flower. 
Commerce forsakes her temples, blind and dim, 
And pours her tardy gold, to homage him. 

The notes of grief to age familiar grow 
Before the sad privations all must know ; 
But the majestic cadence which we hear 
To-day, is new in either hemisphere. 

What crown is this, high hung and hard to reach, 
Whose glory so outshines our laboring speech ? 
The crown of Honor, pure and unbetrayed ; 
He wins the spurs who bears the knightly aid. 

While royal babes incipient empire hold, 

And, for bare promise, grasp the scepter's gold, 

This man such service to his age did bring 

That they who knew him servant, hailed him king. 

In poverty his infant couch was spread. 
His tender hands soon wrought for daily bread : 
But from the cradle's bound his willing feet 
The errand of the moment went to meet. 

When learning's page unfolded to his view, 
The quick disciple straight a teacher grew ; 
And when the fight of freedom stirred the land. 
Armed was his heart and resolute his hand. 



72 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

Wise in the council, stalwart in the field ! 
Such rank supreme a workman's hut may yield. 
His onward steps like measured marbles show, 
Climbing the height where God's great flame doth glow. 

Ah ! Rose of joy, that hid'st a thorn so sharp ! 
Ah ! Golden woof that meet'st a severed warp ! 
Ah ! Solemn comfort that the stars rain down ! 
The Hero's garland his, the Martyr's crown ! 

Julia Ward Hoive. 



"HE IS DEAD, OUR PRESIDENT." 

He is dead, our President ; he rests in an honored grave. 
He whom any one of us would gladly have died to save. 
All is over at last, the long, brave struggle for life 
For a nation's sake, not his own, and for that of children 

and wife. 

Doubt and suspense are dead, dead is the passionate thrill 
Of a hope too blessed and sweet for aught but death 

to kill. 

Do you remember yet, how, from that awful day 
When the pulse of the nation stopped with a shock of 

wild dismay 
And voiceless horror looked from questioning eyes to 

eyes, 
As the murmur widened and spread "Our President 

murdered lies " 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 73 

How to the very last like a star in a night of gloom 
The hope of the people burned till it sank in a hero's 

tomb? 
We could not give him /> as a mother prays for her 

child, 
We prayed for his precious life, with a love as deep and 

wild. 
We had known him long and well as a man of royal 

mind 
Who had nobly proved his birthright as a leader of 

mankind. 
We had watched him, oh, so proudly ! as in life's ranks 

he rose 
By the fair and open warfare that endeared him to his 

foes, 

But we never prized him rightly until he had meekly lain 
Wrapped in speechless tortures of the fiery furnace of 

pain. 
Then, how we learned to love him! for all that man 

holds dear, 
For infinite faith and patience, and courage when death 

drew near, 
For yearning love that strove with a pitiful, mighty 

strife, 
To shield from the sting of sorrow the hearts of mother 

and wife. 

Then with tearful vision, purged of passion and pride, 
We saw in its tender beauty that spirit glorified, 



74 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

And mighty love swept o'er us with a current as deep 

and grand 
As the Nile that swells to a sea to nourish a hungry 

land. 

O boundless sea of love and star of a hope that is dead, 

Not vainly our President died, not vainly our loved one 
bled 

If still that sea shall sweep onward which at first so 
narrow ran 

Till the hands of the nation's clasp in the brotherhood 
of man, 

Till the hate that smoulders still in hearts unreconciled 

Shall change to the sweet affection that beams in the 
glance of a child, 

And gladness shall dawn from sorrow, and glory burst 
from gloom 

And the flower of love fraternal shall blossom from Gar- 
field's tomb. 

Charles Turner Dazey. 



THE SECOND MARTYR. 

Hushed be thy moaning and sobbing, O sea ! 

Thine but the semblance of sorrow ! 
And thou light-hearted as ever wilt be 

On the dawning for us of a bitter to-morrow ! 
O joyous sea ! O bitter sorrow ! 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 75 

Ye winds appareled in midnight pall, 

How feebly ye voice his death 
And harrow our hearts with the scenes ye recall, 

When he felt your bouyant breath ! 
O merry winds ! O midnight pall ! 

O winds! and O sea ! how sad to think 

That mortally-wounded man 
Still cheerfully quaffed your breeze on the brink 

Where death's chill river ran, 
And spoke in your praise, poor, patient man ! 

O Elberon bells ! ye pierce the soul 
He heard you with hope in his heart ; 

The hour for prayer he heard you toll, 
And ye caused his tears to start. 

O hopeful heart ! O Elberon bells ! 

Spirit of prayer ! not in vain o'er the deep 
Of our sorrow thou brooded and breathed ; 

Lo ! now we wonder, while yet we weep, 
At the blessings his battle bequeathed ! 

We weep and wonder, we wonder and weep. 

No tears are shed for him in the skies, 
" Our loss," they know, " is his gain ;" 

Yet moist must have been even angels eyes 
To witness his wasting pain 

But no tears are shed for him now in the skies. 



76 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

It is for the human heart to mourn, 

For human eyes to weep, 
And aye for man of woman born 

To suffer and then to sleep 
It is for human eyes to weep. 

O human hearts the world around ! 

Stay not this torrent of tears ! 
For the love ye sow in his grave's holy ground 

Will blossom, for countless years, 
In human hearts the world around. 

By the desolate shore of this sea of sorrow, 

Trembling and mute they stand, 
Who pray for the speed of a better morrow 

With their own in a happier land, 
Where hope cannot die by the hand of sorrow. 

A new-made grave, and a world bowed down, 

The while two martyrs meet 
In the City of God ! Behold the crown 

They have laid at a people's feet ! 
And men are moved when such martyrs meet. 

Oh! his was indeed a martyr's doom ! 

Thank God for the martyr's crown ! 
A cruel death and an early tomb, 

And unimagined renown ! 
God be praised for the martyr's crown ! 

D. M. Jones. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 77 

J. A. G. 
HUM ANITAS REGNANS. 

With finger on lip and breath bated, 

With an eager and sad desire, 
The world stood hushed, as it waited 

For the click of the fateful wire. 

'Better:" and civilization 

Breathed freer and hoped again. 
' Worse : " and through every nation 

Went throbbing a thrill of pain. 

A cry at midnight ! and listening 

"Dead! " tolled out the bells of despair ; 

And millions of eyelids were glistening 
As sobbed the sad tones on the air. 



But who is he toward whom all eyes are turning ? 
And who is he for whom all hearts are yearning ? 
What is the threat at which earth holds its breath 
While one lone man a duel fights with death? 



No thrones are hanging in suspense ; 

No kingdoms totter to their fall. 
Peace, with her gentle influence, 

Is hovering over all. 

9 



78 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

Tis just one man at Elberon 

Who waiteth day by day, 
Whose patience all our hearts have won 

As ebbs his life away. 

His birthday waked no cannon-boom ; 

No purple round him hung ; 
A back-woods cabin gave him room ; 

And storms his welcome sung. 

He seized the sceptre of that king 

Who treads a free-hold sod ; 
He wore upon his brow that ring 

That crowns a son of God. 

By his own might he built a throne, 

With no unhuman arts, 
And by his manhood reigned alone 

O'er fifty million hearts. 

Thus is humanity's long dream, 

Its highest, holiest hope begun 
To harden into fact, and gleam 

A city 'neath the sun : 

A city, not like that which came 
In old-time vision from the skies ; 

But wrought by man through blood and flame, 
From solid earth to rise : 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 79 

Man's city ; the ideal reign 

Where every human right hath place ; 
Where blood, nor birth, nor priest again 

Shall bind the weary race : 

4 

In which no king- but man shall be. 

'Twas this that thrilled with loving pain 
The heart of all the earth, as he 

Died by the sobbing main. 

For, mightiest ruler of the earth, 
He was the mightiest, not because 

Of priestly touch, or blood, or birth, 
But by a people's laws. 



O Garfield ! brave and patient soul ! 
Long as the tireless tides shall roll 
About the Long Branch beaches, where 
Thy life went out upon the air, 
So long thy land, from sea to sea, 
Will hold thy manhood's legacy. 

There were two parties ; there were those, 
In thine own party, called thy foes ; 
There was a North ; there was a South, 
Ere blazed th' assassin's pistol mouth. 



8O MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

But lo ! thy bed became a throne ; 

And as the hours went by, at length 
The weakness of thine arm alone 

Grew mightier than thy strongest strength. 



No petulent murmur; no vexed cry 
Of baulked ambitions ; but a high, 
Grand patience ! And thy whisper blent 
In one heart all the continent, 
To-day there are no factions left, 
But one America bereft. 



O Garfield ! fortunate in death wast thou, 
Though at the opening of a grand career ! 

Thou wast a meteor flashing on the brow 
Of skies political, where oft appear, 

And disappear so many stars of promise. Then, 
While all men watched thy high course, wondering 

If thou wouldst upward sweep, or fall again, 

Thee from thine orbit mad hands thought to fling ; 

And lo ! the meteor, with its fitful light, 
All on a sudden stood and was a star, 

A radiance fixed, to glorify the night 

There where the world's proud constellations are. 

M, J. Savage. 



JAMES A. GARFIKLD. 8 1 



WHY SHOULD WE MOURN? 

Why should we mourn at death's alarms? 

His weary soul is gone to rest, 
Reposing in his Saviour's arms 

And sheltered safely in His breast. 
Away from pain and sorrow free, 
Jesus, we yield him up to Thee. 



LINCOLN AND GARFIELD. 

A Nation mourns. Its flag is, sorrowing, furled. 

Nor faith, nor hope, nor love could save from death, 
Nor tears, nor prayers prolong the vital breath 
Of him, the foremost man of all the world. 

Why should such shafts at such a mark be hurled ? 
Inscrutable Thy ways, O Providence ! 
And high above this plane of groveling sense, 
Where mortals crawl and question God's intent! 

And still " God rules " and still " the government 
Lives on " as when, in yonder Capital, 
Aforetime lay a murdered President ! 

Lincoln and Garfield ! names forever blent 
The brightest blazoned on Columbia's scroll, 
Where " Washington" still glows with luster perma- 
nent. O. Everts. 



82 



MEMORIAL FOEMS TO 

GARFIELD. 

So fit to die ! With courge calm, 

Armed to confront the threatening dart, 
Better than skill is such high art 

And hopefuller than healing balm. 

So fit to live ! With power cool, 
Equipped to fill his function great, 
To crush the knaves who shame the State, 

Place-seeking pests of honest rule. 

Equal to either fate he'll prove, 

May Heaven's high will incline the scale 
The way our prayers would fain avail 

To weigh it to long life and love ! 

London Punch. 



THE NIGHT OF DEATH. 

The tolling bells startling the silence of the night, 
Proclaim the end. Men gathered in the streets to hear 
Yet more, when all is heard, and all a nation's might 
Can do is now to weep upon his bier. 

Some toil to shade in mourning's emblems dark 
High pillars, mighty columns, that 
The morn may greet a nation's grief; 
And midnight comes and goes, and finds 
And leaves them at their work. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 83 

But night 

Had draped the continent in mourning ; 
Save that the eternal stars shone forth, 
And pierced the darkness of the vault. 

Thus, in the shade of violent death, 

Thus, from the darkness of the tomb, 

The fame of him for whom our country grieves 

Shall shine through all the gloom. 

Rudolph Elstein Ugiets. 



CARMEN AUGURATUM AUSPICANS. 

(A PROPHETIC ODE AFTER SACRIFICE.) 

O thou, my country, ope thine eyes 

Toward what the future holds for thee, 
See the brave stripling rise 

From lowliest hut and poverty, 

From stair to stair ; 
Nor hardly fix his footsteps there, 
Ere he another round 
Doth upward bound ; 
Still, step by step, to higher stair 

Forward he leaps, 
Broader his vision sweeps, 
Till he the loftiest summit gain 
A people's hope to further and maintain. 



84 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

But lo ! as oft befalls the great, 

The wise and good, 
There for a moment poised he stood, 
Then passed beyond the gazing crowd 
Within the folded cloud. 
Wasted by weary pains 
His pale remains 
Now lie in state, 
Swathed in his bloody shroud ; 
Peoples and kingdoms bathed in tears ; 
Hear'st thou the welcome greet his ears, 

As he his holier throne doth take ? 
This Brave of fifty manly years, 

Dies he not now for thy dear sake ? 

O follow then his leading far, 
Be thou thyself the morning star, 
Beaming thy glories round the world, 
His name emblazoned on thy flag unfurled ! 
What speak the myriad bells, 
Tolling this day their mournful knells ? 
" Ne'er may our weight be swung, 
Never our iron tongue 
Slavery's base might extol 
In town or capitol ; 
But o'er a people brave and free, 
Ring out in happier symphony, 
Garfield and Liberty !" 

A. Branson Alcott. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 8$ 

A HYMN. 

Now all ye flowers make room, 
Hither we come in gloom, 
To make a mighty tomb, 

Sighing and weeping. 
Grand was the life he led, 
Wise was each word he said, 
But with the noble dead, 

We leave him sleeping. 

Soft may his body rest, 
As on his mother's breast, 
Whose love stands all confessed 

'Mid blinding tears, 
But may his soul so white 
Rise in triumphant flight, 
And in God's land of light 

Spend endless years. 

Prof. Swing. 



TO MRS. GARFIELD. 

Uusullied days with toil and struggle rife 

Will win at last ; yea, God had given him all 
A seat above the conflict, power to call 

Peace like a zephyr o'er men's turbid strife ; 
10 



86 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

Home music, too, children and heroine wife, 

God gave then gave Death's writing on the wall, 
And on the road the assassin : bade him fall 

Death-stricken at the shining crest of Life. 

And yet our tears are sweet. God bade him taste 
Honey and milk and manna raining down ; 
Clothed him with strength for good whose sweet 

renown 

Touched wind and wave to music as it passed ; 
Then crowned him thine indeed giving at last 
Heroic suffering, the true hero's crown. 

Theodore Watts. 



MIDNIGHT. 

SEPTEMBER IQ, 1 88 1. 

Once in a lifetime, we may see the veil 

Tremble and lift, that hides symbolic things ; 

The Spirit's vision, when the senses fail, 

Sweeps the weird meaning that the outlook brings. 

Deep in the midst of turmoil, it may be 
A crowded street, a forum, or a field, 

The soul inverts the telescope, to see 
To-day's event in future years revealed. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 8/ 

Back from the present, let us look at Rome : 
Now, see what Cato meant, what Brutus said. 

Hark ! the Athenians welcome Cimon home ! 
How clear they are, those glimpses of the dead. 

But we, hard toilers, we who plan and weave 
Through common days the web of common life, 

What word, alas! shall teach us to receive 
The mystic meaning of our peace and strife ? 

Whence comes our symbol ? Surely, God must speak 
No less than He can make us heed or pause ; 

Self-seekers we, too busy or too weak 

To search beyond our daily lives and laws. 

'Gainst things occult our earth-turned eyes rebel ; 

No sound of Destiny can reach our ears ; 
We have no time for dreaming Hark ! a knell 

A knell at midnight ! All the nation hears ! 

A second grievous throb ! The dreamers wake 
The merchant's soul forgets his goods and ships ; 

The humble workmen from their slumbers break ; 
The women raise their eyes with quivering lips : 

The miner rests upon his pick to hear ; 

The printer's type stops midway from the case ; 
The solemn sound has reached the roysterer's ear, 

And brought the shame and sorrow to his face 



88 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

Again it booms ! O, Mystic Veil, upraise ! 

Behold, 'tis lifted ! On the darkness drawn, 

A picture, lined with light ! The people's gaze, 

From sea to sea, beholds it till the dawn : 

A death-bed scene a sinking sufferer lies, 

Their chosen ruler, crowned with love and pride ; 

Around, his counsellors, with streaming eyes ; 
His wife heart-broken, kneeling by his side : 

Death's shadow holds her ; it will pass too soon ; 

She weeps in silence bitterest of tears ; 
He wanders softly Nature's kindest boon, 

And as he whispers all the country hears : 

For him the pain is past the struggle ends : 
His cares and honors fade : his younger life 

In peaceful Mentor comes, with dear old friends ; 

His mother's arms take home his sweet young wife ; 

He stands among the students, tall and strong, 
And teaches truths republican and grand : 

He moves ah, pitiful ! He sweeps along, 

O'er fields of carnage leading his command ! 

He speaks to crowded faces round him surge 
Thousands and millions of excited men : 

He hears them cheer sees some great light emerge 
Is borne as on a tempest : then ah, then, 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 

The fancies fade, the fever's work is past ; 

A moment's pang then recollections thrill ; 
He feels the faithful lips that kiss their last, 

His heart beats once in answer and is still ! 

The curtain falls : but hushed, as if afraid, 

The people wait, tear-stained, with heaving breast ; 

'Twill rise again, they know, when he is laid 
With Freedom, in the Capitol, at rest. 

Once more they see him, in his coffin, there, 
As Lincoln lay in blood-stained martyr sleep ; 

The Stars and Stripes across his honored bier, 
While Freedom and Columbia o'er him weep. 

John Boyle 0' Reilly. 



IN MEMORY OF GENERAL GARFIELD. 

The long, brave fight is over ! To the last 
So gallant was the struggle made for life, 
We hoped a different ending to the strife ; 

But death has triumphed ; and all hope has passed. 

When night was darkest, 'neath the sobbing sea, 
From shore to shore the soundless message flew ; 
And in the dawn two kindred nations knew 

That the brave general had ceased to be. 



9O MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

For weary months had he sustained the fight, 
Put face to face with Death he'd never quailed, 
Nor had his footsteps in the Valley failed, 

For starlike had his faith illumed the night. 

And now 'tis ended. Gone the gallant soul 
That to the last shone in his dauntless eyes ; 
Left all unfinished is his great emprise, 

And unattained his latest, noblest goal. 

Yes, all too soon has he been stricken down, 

Too soon his voice been hushed, his strong arm stilled: 
Too soon, with wealth of promise unfulfilled, 

Have immortelles replaced the laurel crown. 

And yet the land had learned to love him well ; 
And when a crazed assassin laid him low, 
'Twas a whole nation's heart that felt the blow, 

A people round his bed stood sentinel. 

'Twas a whole people waited day by day 

For tidings of the sufferer in his pain ; 

And hoped and feared and feared and hoped again, 
Nor ceased to watch, save when they 'gan to pray. 

And 'tis a nation now weeps round his bier, 
Whilst from its kith and kindred o'er the sea 
There comes a burst of loving sympathy 

For him the world mourns with grief sincere. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 9! 

Columbia has worthy sons still left 

To fill the gap her murdered general leaves, 
But she remembers only him she grieves, 

As o'er his corpse her vigil now is kept. 

Tis not her President alone she weeps ; 
No, 'tis an honest man, a soldier bold, 
A guileless statesman, never bought for gold, 

That proudly she in sad remembrance keeps. 

A loving father and a husband true ; 

A steadfast and an ever faithful friend- 
All these in him that she is mourning blend, 

And all these fell when Guiteau fired and flew. 

These lines, then, to the memory we pen 
Of him who's bravely met so dark a doom ; 
We lay them in all reverence on his tomb, 

And join our tears with all his fellow-men ! 

Anonymous. 



GARFIELD. 
"DEATH LOVES A SHINING MARK, A SIGNAL BLOW. 

O, let me seize the grandest, noblest strain ! 
Let me arouse my slow and sluggish brain ! 
O, let me grasp, with purest patriot grip, 
The cup of inspiration, 'till my lip 



92 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

Glows with unwonted fire, that my poor mind 

May for a moment feel aroused, refined. 

It is a solemn, sad, and sacred theme ; 

So felt, so wept for, that I scarcely deem 

That one so dull as I should dare to fling 

His puny thoughts upon so wild a string ! 

But since I've touched the chord, I'll onward glide 

With soul subdued, as one who mourns his bride. 

The task is noble, or I fain would shrink 

Into myself, feeling 'twere vain to think 

Of shedding o'er that hallowed, lustrous name, 

By such light means, a more enchanting fame. 

He was the people's choice, and well they chose, 

Prepared for distant and intestine foes ; 

Proved in past times a brave and gallant chief ; 

His honors mighty, but alas ! how brief ! 

Short space for gladness, lo ! how strange his doom 

A stricken nation mourning round his tomb ! 

Yet he shall live upon the burning page 

Of distant time, a warrior and a sage ! 

Simple, serene, a man of wondrous skill 

To win all hearts and mould them to his will ; 

Austere in virtue, honest in each deed, 

Sought by his country in her hour of need, 

Snatched from the plow, the single-minded man. 

She gave the highest gift a nation can. 

High over all, majestic in his seat, 

We shout aloud, our hearts with triumph beat ; 



JAMES A. GARF1ELD. 93 

And from the lakes, the mountain and the plain 
Was echoed back the same exulting strain ; 
And ev'ry bosom swelled with conscious pride 
From fierce Atlantic's to Pacific's tide ! 



But mark the change ! Sounding from shore to shore, 
Is heard the solemn bell and cannon's roar, 
Is heard the question, quick response and sigh, 
Wrung from our souls that one so good should die. 
'Tis ever thus ; for fate with envious hand, 
Plucks from the world the noblest of the land ; 
Leaving false hearts and meaner minds to pour 
Their venom forth, not having wings to soar, 
And crawling onward, basking in the ray 
Shed by their chief, yet dare to disobey 
The people's voice, mocking its high behest 
With viper spleen, tearing their mother's breast ! 

T. B. Coster. 



FATHERLESS. 

Over the land the tidings sped 
'The leader has fallen, our Chief is dead," 
And over the land, a cry of pain, 
Began, and ended with Garfield's name. 
II 



94 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

"He is dead," said each with tearful eye. 

"So strong, so true, why must he die?" 
And the children paused that autumn day, 
To talk of the good man passed away. 

Over the land, when the tidings came, 
Even the babies lisped his name ; 
And youthful eyes grew sad that day 
For the fatherless children far away. 

Fatherless, word with a life of pain; 
Fatherless, never complete again; 
Always to miss, and never to know 
The joy of his greeting, his love below. 

Missing the cheerful smile each day, 
Missing his care in studies or play, 
Missing each hour, each day, each year, 
The sound of a voice so tender and dear. 

Fatherless ! only the children can tell, 
The sound of that dreary funeral knell, 
For only they, in all coming years, 
Find the roses of youth bedewed with tears. 

Over the land from shore to shore 
The prayer of the children is echoed o'er, 
" God. of the fatherless, help we pray, 
The wards of our mourning nation to-day." 

Kate Tannatt Woods. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 9$ 

THE LAST BULLETIN. 
Day after day as morning skies did flame 

" How fares our Liege?" we cried with eager breath, 
"How fares our Liege, who fights the fight with 

death?" 
And ever with fresh hope the answer came. 

Until that solemn midnight when the clang 
Of woful bells tolled out their tale of dread, 
That he, the good and gifted one was dead, 

And through his weeping land the message rang. 

Then in the darkness every heart was bowed : 
While thinking on the direful ways of Fate, 
Where Love could thus be overthrown by Hate, 

" So wrong hath conquered right ! we said aloud : 

"If this be life, what matter how it flies ; 

What strength or power or glory crowns a name ; 

What noble meed of honesty or fame, 
Since all these gifts were his and there he lies 

Blighted by malice ! Woe's the day ! and dead 
While yet the fields of his most golden clime 
Are rich in all the-pomp of summer time, 

With all their ripening wealth unharvested !" 

* # * * * * * 

Thus fares it with our Liege? Nay doubting soul, 
Not thus ; but grandly raised to nobler height 
Of strength and power and most divine delight, 

At one swift breath made beautiful and whole ! 



96 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

Nor mocked by broken hope or shattered plan, 
By some pale ghost of duty left undone, 
By haunting moments wasted one by one, 

But crowned with that which best becometh man. 

Holding with brimming hands his heart's desire ; 
While the fierce light of these last glorious days, 
Blazing on each white line of thought and ways, 

Touches his record with immortal fire ! 

Marie E. Blake. 



YOUNG GARFIELD AT CHATTANOOGA. 
I see bold Longstreet's darkening host 

Sweep through our lines of flame, 
And hear again, "The right is lost !" 

Swart Rosecrans exclaim. 
" But not the left," young Garfield cries ; 
" From that we must not sever, 
While Thomas holds the field that lies 
On Chickamauga river !" 

Through tongues of flame, through meadows brown, 

Dry valley roads concealed, 
Ohio's hero dashes down 

Upon the rebel field. 
And swift, on reeling charger borne, 

He threads the wooden plain, 
By twice an hundred cannon mown, 

And reddened with the slain. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 97 

I 

But past the swaths of carnage dire, 

The Union guns he hears, 
And gains the left, begirt with fire, 

And thus the heroes cheer 
"While stands the left, yon flag o'erhead, 

Shall Chattanooga stand !" 
"Let the Napoleons rain their lead !" 
Was Thomas's command. 



Back swept the gray brigades of Bragg, 

The air with victory rung, 
And Wurzel's " Rally round the flag !" 

'Mid Union cheers was sung. 
The flag on Chattanooga's height 

In twilight's crimson waved, 
And all the clustered stars of white 

Were to the Union saved. 



O chief of staff, the nation's fate 

That red field crossed with thee, 
The triumph of the camp and State, 

The hope of liberty ! 
O nation, free from sea to sea, 

With Union blessed forever, 
Not vainly heroes fought for thee 

By Chickamauga river ! 

Hczekiah Bulterworth. 



MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

AN EXILE'S TRIBUTE. 

Dear native land in memory bowed, 
Thy woe and grief upon us crowd ! 
Black burst the evil thunder-cloud ! 
And lifting left us but a shroud ! 

And yet not so ; 

The evil hand which struck the blow, 

Unwittingly made strong the band 

Of brotherhood, we did not know ! 

From every land o'er every sea 

Comes floating saddest melody 

Of exiled ones who with thee mourn ! 

Of loyal hearts by anguish torn ! 

We mourn with thee our President, 
But sadder still our eyes are bent 
On one who stands alone ! 
We hear a widow's moan 
And longing, from this distant land, 
We try to touch her gentle hand 
In human sympathy. 

God lift her eyes to His great Day ! 
God lift her heart to Him alway ! 
God speak unto her heart in night 
And show His light. 

Mrs, John P. Morgan. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 99 



A BURIAL ODE. 

We deck our hero for the tomb, 

And heap his bier with flowers, 
While his grand spirit through the gloom 

Finds amaranthine bowers. 

The favored State that gave him birth 

Receives her martyred son : 
Carve deep the stone that speaks his worth, 

And tells the prize death won ! 

Let forge-flames die ! Let mill-wheels pause ! 

Let traffic stay her hand ! 
Make bare your brow ! Twine sable gauze ! 

Pray ye through all the Land. 

Pray for his stricken family! 4 

Lament our nation's woe ! 
We have the whole world's sympathy 

A true man lieth low. 

We deck our Garfield for the grave, 

And hide his pall with flowers ; 
His life, our love worked hard to save, 

Leaves " influence sweet " for ours. 

T. G. La Motile. 



IOO MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

OUR DEPARTED PRESIDENT. 

Bear him back in silent sorrow, 

Place him 'neath his native sod ; 
There in angel's guard to slumber, 

Whilst his spirit rests in God. 
Bear him back the nation's hero 

At her highest altar slain ; 
Hero on the field of battle, 

Hero on the bed of pain. 

Bear him back, where his dear household 

To his tomb may oft repair ; 
Cherished mother, wife and children, 

Feeling that he still is near. 
Bear him back, the struggle's over, 

Doubt and weariness and pain, 
Though but few may be his cortege, 

Mourning millions make his train. 

Bear him back, and though grief's passion 

Soon may be assuaged and calmed, 
In the world's well-won affection 

Will his mem'ry be embalmed. 
Bear him back, nor o'er his ashes 

Let a broken shaft be placed ; 
Life, though short, is nobly finished 

When with excellence so graced. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. IOI 

Bear him back, yet his example, 

Bright and true, and good and pure, 
Ling'ring with the stricken nation, 

Through long ages will endure. 
Bear him back, nor let faith falter, 

Though her prayers did not prevail ; 
We must trust, in densest darkness, 

Him whose love can never fail. 

Alfred Nevin, D. D. 



LAY HIM TO SLEEP. . 
Lay him to sleep, whom we have learned to love, 

Lay him to sleep, whom we have learned to trust. 

No blossom of hope shall spring from out his dust, 
No flower of faith shall bloom his sod above. 

Although the sod by sorrowful hands be drest, 

Although the dust with tenderest tears be drenched, 
A feebler light succeeds the new light quenched, 

And weaker hands the strong hands crossed in rest. 

Our new, our untried leader when he rose, 
Though still old hatreds fed upon old griefs, 
Death or disgrace had stilled the cry of chiefs 

Of old who rallied us against our foes. 

A soldier of the camp, we knew him thus; 
No saintly champion, high above his kind, 
To follow with devotion mad and blind 

He fought and fared, essayed and erred with us. 
12 



IO2 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

And so, half-hearted, went we where led ; 

And, following whither beckoned his bright blade, 
Learned his high will and purpose undismayed ; 

And brought him all our faith and found him dead. 

Is of the sacred pall, that once of yore 

Draped Lincoln dead, one mouldering fragment left ? 

Spread it above him Knight whose helm was cleft 
Fair in the fight, as his who fell before. 

As his who fell before, his seat we dress 

With pitiful shreds of black, that flow and fail 
Upon the bosom of the breeze, whose wail 

Prays us respect the hallowed emptiness. 

Ay ! who less worthy now may take that chair, 
If our first martyr's spirit on one hand 
And this new ghost upon the other stand, 

Saying : Betray thy country if thou dare ! 

Anonymous. 



THE GREED FOR OEFICE. 

Our every house is draped with mourning; 

Half-mast our sad flag flies ; 
Historic page for aye adorning, 

Entombed loved Garfield lies. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. IO3 

Loved more and more, as more we con him ; 

Each foul deed foiled with scorn ; 
Greatness achieved, not thrust upon him ; 

High bearing, not high-born ! 

Small need to laud each noble feature ; 

World-wide his praises sound. 
Death-stricken, now God's noblest creature, 

By greedy maniac's wound. 

What haps to-day may hap to-morrow ; 

Our dead we can't restore. 
Let's prove the semblance of our sorrow 

By doing so no more. 

For, as we sit in dust and ashes, 

Rueing our mighty loss, 
Perhaps this thought that o'er me flashes, 

Some other minds may cross. 

This national office-seeking greed, 

At whose door lies the sin ? 
'Twas madman wrought this special deed. 

Had / no share therein ? 

Share in that vile plan we inherit, 

Which yields to clam'rous cries, 
What to proved competence and merit 

Should justly be the prize. 

Edward Berwick. 



IO4 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

ENGLAND TO AMERICA. 

Silence were best, if hand in hand, 

Like friends, sea-sundered peoples met ; 

But words must wing from land to land 
The utterance of the heart's regret, 

Though harsh on ears that sorrow thralls 

E'en sympathy's low accent falls. 

Salt leagues that part us check no whit, 
What knows not bounds of time or space, 

The homestead feeling that must knit 
World scattered kin in speech and race, 

None like ourselves may well bemoan 

Columbia's sorrow ; 'tis our own. 

A sorrow of the noble sort, 

Which love and pride make pure and fair ; 
A grief that is not misery's sport, 

A pain that bows not to despair ; 
Beginning not in courtly woe, 
To end in pageantry and show. 

The great Republic's foremost son 

Struck foully falls ; but they who mourn 

Brave life cut short, good work half done, 
Yet trust that from beyond death's bourne 

That blameless memory's gifts may be 

Peace, Concord, Civic Purity. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. IO5 

Scarce known of us till struck for death, 

He stirred us by his valiant fight 
With mortal pain. With bated breath 

We waited tidings morn and night. 
The hope that's nursed by strong desire, 
Though shaken often, will not tire. 

And now our sables type, in truth, 

A more than ceremonial pain. 
We send Court, Cottage, Age and Youth, 

From open hearts, across the main, 
Our sympathy he never swerved 
To wife he loved, to land he served. 

London Punch. 



THE NATION WEEPS. 
The nation weeps the President is dead ! 

And every heart is welling o'er with woe, 
And droops in deep despondence every head, 

And every voice is tremulous and low, 

And even manly eyes with tears o'erflow, 
For him who lies unconscious of the surge 

A pulseless victim to the coward's blow 
While moaning waves upon the ocean's verge, 
Join in the gen'ral grief, and sing the solemn dirge. 

Alas, that he should die : so pure, so brave ! 

So bright in all that dignifies a man ! 
So full of hope to help, to bless, to save ; 



IO6 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

And for his country's good to plan-! 

His life's full pages all the world might scan, 
And glean therefrom, in characters of light, 

His noble march from rear rank to the van, 
Where he plucked honor from its topmost height, 
And wore the laurel wreath full in the whole world's 
sight ! 

In vain, in vain, the universal prayer 

Ascended humbly to the heavenly throne, 

Asking of God this single life to spare 
And save the nation from a cruel moan, 
And gladness spread to every peopled zone ! 

'Tis not for man Omnipotence to trace ; 
His motives to Himself alone are known ; 

Meek souls with faith accept the offered grace 

That moves his mercy throughout time, and tide, and 
space ! 

Though stricken hearts are bending o'er his form, 
And friends, and wife and children weep, with blinded 
eyes, 

There will, come comfort riding on the storm, 
To hush to rest their agonizing cries, 
And soothe to sadness e'en their deepest sighs ! 

He had lived long enough for fame to test 
His solid worth, his fitness for the skies 

God's justice numbered him among the blest ; 

His mercy summoned him to his eternal rest ! 

Joseph A. Nunez. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 

THE SORROW OF THE NATIONS. 
There's darkness over every land, 

The hearts of men are failing : 
Man takes his fellow by the hand, 
In nearer brotherhood they stand, 

For all the earth is wailing. 

There's sorrow in the hut and hall ; 

The bells of death are tolling : 
The sun is hidden by a pall ; 
In whelming billows, over all 

The tide of grief is rolling. 

Loved Britain's queen of grace and worth 

The proudest thrones of power 
The millions high or low in birth 
Yea, all the peoples of the earth 
Are one in sorrow's hour. 

'Tis not that bloody-handed war 

A nation's strength has broken ; 

No pestilence has swept the shore, 

Nor famine left in any door 

Its grim and deathly token. 

A cruel, vile, accursed blow 

The world's great soul has smitten ; 
It laid the man heroic low, 
And lines of deep and bitter woe 
On countless hearts are written. 



IO8 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

Up to the Majesty on high 

Unceasing prayer ascended 
And kneeling millions wonder why 
A righteous God should let him die 

For whom their prayers contended. 

Tis true a serpent strikes the heel, 

And man sinks down to perish ; 
And swift diseases from us steal 
The loved and loving, till we feel 
This life has naught to cherish. 

Yet, world of weeping ! question not 

Whatever God ordainest : 
He cannot err, no matter what 
The seeming strangeness of the 'lot, 

The LORD JEHOVAH reignest ! 

Thomas MacKellar. 



THE NATION'S GUIDE. 

Half-mast the flag that long has waved on high 
In joyous triumph to the smiling sky ! 
Another martyr claims the sign of woe, 
Once more the Nation's heart is stricken low ! 
Once more throughout our mighty, mourning land, 
From far off ocean strand to ocean strand, 
The throbbing pulse of pain is wildly stirr'd, 



JAMES A. GARFIEI.D. 

And, trembling, shudders at the fatal word 
That overflows with 'whelming weight of grief: 
Garfield is dead our country's honored chief! 

His was a life sprung from the people's loins, 
Whose humble boyhood with the lowliest joins ; 
Whose patient, strong endeavor, grasping mind, 
Fixed purpose, and integrity combined, 
By grand gradations sweeping on the tide 
Raised him, at last, to be the Nation's guide ; 
Whose many virtues might our envy move 
Were not each envious feeling lost in love. 
May this his life from calumny defend : 
He rarely found a foe ne'er lost a friend ! 

Honored and blest have been his righteous days 
Whose name descends on children's lips in praise, 
By guiding, loving mothers fondly taught 
To emulate his life in deed and thought ; 
Whose ever-living fame, from tongue to tongue, 
Goes down the years in story told and sung. 
O Patriot, Martyr, Husband, Father, Friend, 
Thy work of life achieves this glorious end ! 

George Bird-Eye. 



THERE IS MOURNING EVERYWHERE, 

SEPTEMBER, 26, 1881. 

From where the Atlantic surges break on the rocks of 
Maine, 

13 



IIO MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

To where the prairie stretches its miles of golden grain, 
From where the forests of the north sigh in their silent 

gloom, 
To where the southern flowers in summer's beauty 

bloom, 

The solemn bells are tolling for the nation's bitter woe, 
And fifty million mourners are bowed beneath one 

blow ; 
Through silent crowds and scattered flowers the funeral 

train moves past, 
And after his long agony, our hero rests at last. 

Call him not dead ; forever shall live that noble name. 
High on the roll of honor, Columbia guards his fame. 
With pride, and love, and pity, we give the " dust to 

dust." 
In the hope of life eternal, with the God in whom we 

trust. 

From beyond the restless ocean, come the words of 

England's Queen, 
Who has known the same sad parting, the same bitter 

grief has seen, 
And our kindred in the old home, clasping hands across 

the wave, 
Tell us that we still are brothers, by our Garfield's open 

grave. 



JAMES A. GAKFIELD. Ill 

From the snows of mighty Russia, from Australia's far 
off land, 

From France, our ancient ally, from the Roman pon- 
tiff's hand, 

From Germany's great monarch, from the sunny fields 
of Spain, 

From all come mournful greeting, all weep our hero 
slain. 

But the wife's heart never falters, and her faith not 

once grows dim ; 
" He had reached earth's highest honor, and the Father 

called to him ; " 
He had fought the fight and conquered ; he had won 

the golden crown, 
And to wear that wreath immortal, he this earthly life 

laid down ! 

Anonymous. 



OUR DEAD CHIEF MAGISTRATE. 

Lake moans to lake, and sea to sea, 

Sad bells toll o'er the land, 
The northern fir and southern pine 

As solemn sentries stand. 



112 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

Our grand old mountains, hung with gloom, 

Bear up his pall to-day, 
Our .rivers chant his requiem 

Whose brow we crown with bay. 

The Nations bare the head ; we bow 

Beneath the chastening rod ; 
Our suffering ruler rests at last 

Upon the Mount of God. 

Life's battle he had bravely fought, 
His shield with blood was wet ; 

But tattered flag and " visage marred " 
Are more than coronet. 

"Their works do follow them." We feel 

The heavenly promise sweet, 
For his shall form a regal train 
To follow at his feet. 

The truths he sought through mists of time, 

Full-oft were veiled and dim, 
But now he learns what they may know 

Who walk with seraphim. 

And shall we wish him back to earth 

Much as we longed to stay 
His upward flight now that he bathes 

In everlasting day ? 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 1 

Back to the earth, whose day and night 

Are filled with deep unrest ; 
Nay, let us leave him where he lies 

Upon the Saviour's breast. 

Yet still with us his memory lives, 
Though he has passed on high ; 
"The nation's heart," O, soldier brave, 
" Will never let thee die." 

5. A. J. 



THE SOBBING OF THE BELLS. 

The sobbing of the bells, the sudden death-news every- 
where, 

The slumberers rouse, the rapport of the people. 

(Full well they know that message in the darkness, 

Full well return the sad reverberations), 

The passionate toll and clang city to city joining, 
sounding, passing, 

Those heart-beats of a Nation in the night. 

Walt Whitman. 



SONNET JAMES A. GARFIELD. 
Lo ! as a pure white statute wrought with care 

By some strong hand, which moulds from Life and 

Death 

Beauty more beautiful than blood or breath, 
And straightway veiled ; and whilst all men repair 



I 14 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

To see this wonder in the workshop, there ! 

Behold it gleams unveiled to curious eye 

Far-seen, high-placed in Art's pale gallery, 
Where all stand mute before a work so fair. 
So he, our man of men, in vision stands, 

With pain and patience crowned imperial; 
Death's veil has dropped ; far from this house of woe 
He hears one Love-chant out of many lands, 

Whilst from his mystic noon height he lets fall 
His shadow o'er these hearts that bleed below. 

H. Bernard Carpenter. 



DUST TO DUST. 

Two-score and ten ! A broken life well spent, 
The wise and good are glad such soul was sent 
By Him who giveth talents, one or ten, 
To angels, mighty, and to mortal men ! 
Star of sun-lit age in lasting luster blent ! 
More radiant, now, in fairer firmament ! 

" Dust unto dust." From hallowed lips to-day, 
These farewell words fall o'er the honored clay, 
As back to earth, with fitting dirge, returns 
More sacred mold than sleeps in royal urns ! 
A stricken nation bends with grief to lay 
Upon her noble dead the amaranthine bay ! 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 115 

Of freedom's land a loved and laureled son ! 
The peer of Lincoln and of Washington. 
Such names to struggling man bright beacons are, 
As unto mariner the true pole star ! 
No cloud of time thy shining fame can mar, 
But through all future gloom- 'twill brighter glow afar! 

James Nesbitt Karr. 



AFTER ALL'S DONE. 

His wife asked where was his pain. Garfield answered, "Darling, even to live is pain.' 

To live was pain to die is peace ; 
Falling asleep in tender arms : 
Ended vain hopes, more vain alarms, 

Blind struggles for impossible ease. 

Yes, life was loss, and death is gain ; 

The martyr's blood the church's seed. 

O Christian, to Christ's world-large creed 
Faithful till death ! die, rise, and reign ! 

Reign, king-like, o'er the souls of men ; 
Shame them from paltry lust of gold, 
From public honor bought and sold, 

From venal lie of tongue or pen. 

Reign in the hearts of women brave, 
Fit mothers of the men to be ; 
Like that true woman loved by thee, 

Whom God so loved He could not save. 



Il6 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

But thou art saved her hero ! Thine 
The glorious rest of battle won, 
A setting of the mid-day sun, 

And lo ! the stars burst out and shine. 

No long, dull twilight of weak age, 
Morn's glow forgot in misty night. 
Thy record was full writ in light, 

And then thine angel closed the page. 

All's done, all's said. The tale is told. 
Across the ocean hands clasp hands : 
One voice of weeping from all lands 

Binds the new world unto the old ; 

Then Silence : and we go our ways, 
Work our small work for good or ill : 
But thou, through whom the Master's will 

Was done, and didst it, to his praise, 

Go straightway into eternal light ! 

On earth among the immortal dead ; 

In heaven that mystery none hath read : 
We walk by faith, and not by sight. 

But this we know, or feel, half known : 
He who from evil brings forth good, 
His message, although writ in blood, 

Has left upon thy funeral stone. 

Miss Muloch. 



JAMES A. GARFJELD. I IJ 

THE DEAD PRESIDENT. 
Braver than Roman sentinel 

He died enduring to the last ; 
No captain ever nobler fell, 

Nor death a deeper shadow cast. 

Prayers, none could reach the mystery, 
Though millions daily lifted theirs, 

The morrow baffled yesterday, 

As if in scorn of tears and prayers. 

He felt the deadly touch, and still 

With master-strength, he braved the strife ; 
For, O, he battled with the will 

Of Christian fortitude, for life. 

His courage won from all the world 

A hero's due, of homage great ; 
At half-mast now, the flags unfurled, 

Are draped for him who lies in state. 

Large brained, but larger yet of heart, 
His broadening sympathy divined 

The lore of truth, and had the art 
To teach its lessons to mankind. 

He sought no prize or praise of men, 
No selfish dream of blazoned fame, 

His grand ideal of human ken, 

Was more than circumstance or name. 



Il8 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

He saw beyond earth's narrow shore. 

And spurned the hollow sands of time ; 
For, in a higher faith he bore 

The spirit-life of trust sublime. 

Alas, to honors, lifted high ! 

Scarce one-half year of hope and fear 
In which to do, and then to die 

Has laid him on his lonely bier. 

A nation mourns beside the tomb 
Of him who kept its high decree, 

Oh, death, thou hast thy sting and gloom ! 
Oh, grave, thou hast thy victory ! 

S. H. Thayer. 



BROTHERHOOD. 

Drawn by the ties divine of sympathy, 

The hearts of all the dwellers in our land 

Have come together. North and South now stand 

No more opposing, but in unity. 

How strange a madman's murderous blow should be 

The signal, bringing in on every hand 

A flood of tenderness so pure and grand, 

To prove the nation's heart-felt amity ! 

Ah, how unlike this generous brotherhood 

Was that sad time when all the peaceful bands 

That held our people in one common good 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 

Were broken ! Let the useful lesson be : 
How sweet is peace and all its mild commands ; 
How dreadful war and all its misery ! 

Anonymous. 
WHEELING, W. VA. 



WHY SHOULD THEY KILL MY BABY? 

The aged mother of the President is reported to have exclaimed as above 
upon hearing the news of his attempted assassination. 

Why should they kill my boy for he seems the same 

to me 
As when, in the morning twilight, I tossed him on my 

knee, 
And sowed for him hopes to blossom when he should 

become a man, 
And dreamed for him such a future as only a mother 

can. 

I looked ahead to the noon-time with proud but trem- 
bling joy ; 

I had a vision of splendor for my sweet, bright-eyed 
boy : 

But little enough I fancied that when he had gained 
renown 

Base envy's poisoned bullet would suddenly strike him 
down. 

Why should they want to kill him ? Because he had 
cut his way 



I2O MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

Through poverty's gloomy woodland into the open day, 
And sent a shout of good cheer to those who were yet 

within, 
That honor is born of striving, and honesty yet can win ? 

Or was it because from boyhood he manfully bared his 

breast 
To fight for the poor and lowly and aid the sore 

oppressed ? 
Ah ! me, the world is working upon a treacherous 

plan 
When he who struck for mankind is stricken down by 

man ! 

Or did they begrudge his mother the hand he reached 

her still, 
No odds how high he clambered up fortune's glittering 

hill? 
For in his proudest life-day he turned from the honors 

of earth, 
And came and tenderly kissed me the mother who 

gave him birth. 

Shame on -the wretch who struck him and grieves that 

it did not kill ! 

And pity for his mother, if she be living still. 
May God in his mercy aid him his black crime to atone, 
And help me to forgive him I cannot do it alone ! 

Will Carleton. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 1 21 

AFTER THE JOURNEY. 

AN INVOCATION. 

O winds of heaven that sweep the land and sea, 
Now come with gracious healing on your wings, 

And whisper to the sufferer tenderly 

Of rest, and health, and home, and pleasant things. 

Blow strong, north wind, keen from the gulfs of ice, 
And balmy with the healthful scent of pine, 

For thy pure breath holds medicine beyond price, 
And cordial richer than the rarest wine. 

Or, west wind, if thou blow, then hither roam, 
O'er wide green plains and rustling fields of corn, 

That thou may bring with thee a dream of home, 
And cattle lowing in the early morn. 

But, south wind, come across the tossing sea, 

And blend thy perfume with its strong salt breeze, 

So thy soft tones a lullaby shall be 

Unto the weary one, till sleep bring ease 

And happy dreams to cheer his painful way, 
Sweet dreams of health and life begun anew, 

So that, some hour awakening, he may say, 

At last ! at last ! Thank God, my dreams come true ! 

Anonymous. 



122 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

THEY LOVED HIM. 
Loud wails the wild September gale 

Across the land with solemn sound, 
Adown the sky the dark clouds sail, 

The oak has fallen to the ground. 

To day we stand with tearful eyes, 

For God has been more wise than we 

With folded hands our Chieftain lies 
Beside the sobbing Eastern sea. 

By grateful millions loved and blessed, 

How glorious it is to fall 
To sink to death's eternal rest, 

So honored, so revered by all. 

How grand to pass from his proud height, 
With all to speak his honest praise, 

Into the fair and fadeless light 
Of brighter and of better days. 

He sprang to life from lowly soil ; 

He rose to honor and renown 
By honest worth and manly toil 

No weight could crush or keep him down. 

We pay our tribute to his dust, 
We render homage to his soul ; 

His course was clear, his words were just 
No faction held him in control. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 123 

How wise the way he firmly trod, 

How strong the purpose of his life ; 
How true his trust and faith in God 

His love of children, home and wife. 

Through months of anguish and of pain, 
With failing strength and wandering mind, 

None heard his pallid lips complain 
He had no hatred for his kind. 

And she whose presence made more bright 

His hallowed home, will always be 
A ray of hope, a beacon-light 

To all on life's domestic sea. 

With willing hands and helpful mind, 

She toiled and struggled by his side 
Until the end. Still true and kind, 

She held his cold hand when he died. 

Her name is honored everywhere 
"The faithful friend, the worthy wife"- 
A Nation will delight to bear 

The burdens of her widowed life. 

Garfield, farewell ! your name is dear, 
The world is proud of your fair fame ; 

No more the vile and envious sneer 

Shall fall when millions speak your name. 



124 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

Your work is done, though incomplete, 
And undisturbed your dust shall dwell 

On Erie's shore, where billows beat 
Along the land you loved so well. 

And thousands yet shall seek that shore, 
As pilgrims seek some sacred shrjne 

Of holy saint whom they adore 

Through endless years your life will shine. 

In work you bore a noble part ; 

Your feet were foremost in the race ; 
Your deeds shall dwell in every heart, 

Your manhood glorified your place. 

Eugene J. Hall. 



THE LORD REIGNETH ! 

The Lord reigneth, and the government at Washington still lives. Garjicld. 

"Garfield is dead !" O thought so full of pain ! 
Hath death indeed then no regard for station ? 
Nor for the prince of virtues in the Nation ? 
Ah, he is dead ! and yet the Lord doth reign. 

. Darkness and clouds are round about Him now : 
We cannot understand, for they obstruct our vision, 
But righteous judgment leads to each decision, 
And Love lights up the frowning of His brow. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 1 

God is the stay of each and of the Nation, 
Then blessed he, who in his reign believes 
In death and life, in fear and tribulation. 

There's naught, that in this hour comfort gives, 
Save God, the Lord alone, and His salvation, 
And but through Him our government still lives. 

E. F. L. Gauss. 



THE CALLING OF THE ROLL ON HIGH. 

Sadly from the field of battle, 

To his rest a hero's borne, 
Nobly hath he stood the conflict, 

Now to Christ his soul hath gone. 
Bear him slowly, bear him gently, 

Lay the mangled body bye, 
Let him sleep till Christ shall call him, 

Call and crown him, there on high. 

Moan and break, O waves of ocean, 

Sigh, ye winds, across the sea, 
While a mourning, weeping Nation, 

Gathers round the lifeless clay. 
Marred and bruised, O piteous story, 

He so good, so soon to die. 
But with Christ he'll stand in glory 

When they call the roll on high. 
15 



126 . MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

Faithful to the trust accepted, 

He by grace the crown hath won, 
O, may grace to us be given, 

In his path to follow on. 
Brave and true the Lord confessing, 

Self for him to crucify, 
Ever ready to give answer 

When the roll is called on high. 

Chorus. Let him sleep, calmly sleep, 

While the days and the years go by, 
Let him sleep, sweetly sleep, 
Till the call of the roll on high. 

Anonymous. 



SLEEP, COMRADE ! 

Illustrious dead ! O glorious light, 

That wraps the soldier-statesman's dust ! 
O broken scepter, keen but just, 

That cleft the day out of the night. 

Thou art no pillar fallen prone, 

No wreck upon Time's wreck-strewn shore, 
Thy name shall grow from more to more, 

For all thy work was nobly done. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. I2/ 

This was thy greatest ; when you fell 
Before the greedy spoilsman's rage, 
You solved the problem of the age 

And after history will tell 

How the Republic rose and spoiled 
The spoilsman in his mad career, 
And wrought within this sacred year, 

All that for which the nation toiled. 

O noble offering on the shrine 

Of purer things and loftier days, 

Up from the darkness of the ways 
Shall come effulgent light divine. 

Here grief hath not one dark regret, 
Sorrow no bitterness of woe, 
And on thy turf the tears that flow, 

Are gems in love's own beauty set. 

Strong heart that quailed not at the cry 
Of harpies in their quest for blood, 
Brave lion, falling where you stood, 

Thy great achievements cannot die. 

O baptism red ; O sacrifice 

Of greatness for the righteous cause, 
Truth, justice, better, purer laws 

Thy glorious monument shall rise. 



128 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

In thy dead face we faintly see 
God's purpose of the after years, 
And, watered by the Nation's tears, 

The harvest of the yet-to-be. 

O comrade, tried on fields of fire, 
And true amid the battle's shock, 
Thy purpose firmer than a rock 

Shall grow the nation's one desire. 

Till thy dead face shall rise and glow 
Like Arcturus in yon blue sky, 
A quenchless beacon shining high, 

To point to us the path to go. 

For her God help her in her need 
Who buckled on thy battle gear, 
And sent thee forth with smile and tear 

For her each soldier's heart will bleed. 

For her God help her while she weeps 
Who crowned thee with life's proudest bays, 
When peace came with the shining days 

Each soldier's heart a vigil keeps. 

Sleep on, O comrade of the sword, 
O civic hero, nobly crowned, 
Sleep till the last reveille sound, 

While Fame and History stand guard. 

Anonymous. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 129 



OUR FALLEN CHIEF. 

We honored him, the good, while living, 
We mourn for him, the loved one dead : 

We join, in shrouded homage giving, 
The tears a stricken people shed. 

Tears, whose source a nation's sorrow 
Our Chief in death's dark anguish lies ; 

A gallant foe to-day to-morrow 
A friend in friendship's truest guise. 

The great may die, the good forever 
Live on ; in nation's hearts they lie 

Enshrined in love ; we may not sever 
His deeds from immortality. 

Beside his bier no hates divide us, 
When one in grief all discords cease ; 

His name the eternal star to guide us, 
Beyond the gulf, to love and peace. 

'Tis his the diadem of glory 

As when the great and good have died, 
To live in golden-lettered story, 

Forever crowned, a people's pride. 

By an Ex -Confederate. 



I3O MEMORIAL POEMS TO 



' BURIAL OF GARFIELD. 

A nation's head is bowed to-day, 

A world looks on in tears, 
For one who pass'd from earth away 

In the glory of his years. 
We lay his honored form in dust, 

Upon his native soil 
The great, the good, the wise, the just, 

A foul assassin's spoil. 
So wondrous are the ways of God, 

So far past finding out, 
We bow submissive to the rod, 

Without complaint or doubt. 

Through years of gloom, from years of strife ; 

That found at last surcease, 
Our nation had resumed its life 

Of union and of peace. 
From North to South, from South to North, 

Waves of new feeling roll'd, 
And the words on each that journey'd forth 

Were words we knew of old. 
East turn'd to West, West turn'd to East, 

With looks of glad surprise, 
As the bickerings of sections ceas'd, 

And we felt new hopes arise. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 

But now the orb whose steady light 

Fell everywhere on all 
Has passed away from mortal sight, 

And shadows 'round us fall ; 
Yet we have strength, if we have will, 

Those shades to drive away 
The darkness to dispel, and still 

Enjoy the perfect day. 
So let us, standing by the tomb 

That holds the honored dead, 
Resolve to scatter far the gloom 

That threatens overhead. 



Let us be MEN, not slaves to hate ; 

Look warily about ; 
Prejudge not any one, but bate 

Our aptitude to doubt; 
Look forward more than backward ; see 

What noiv lies in our way ; 
Work for a day that is to be 

Not for a vanish'd day; 
Afar be all our bickerings hurl'd ; 

Do as he would have done 
Whom now we mourn, and show the world 

Though MANY we are ONE. 

Anonymous. 



132 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

AT REST. 

A SONG. 

At rest at last from life's sad toil, 

He's gathered in that fold 
Where angels sing eternal praise, 

For valiant deeds and bold. 
The clinging arms that held him dear, 

Have loosed their loving hold ; 
The heart that throbb'd in gratitude, 

Is silent now and cold. 

But while we weep and vainly mourn, 
Our loss, our country's pride, 

The heavenly choir with golden harps 
Sing welcome at his side, 

A good and faithful servant to 
" His Lord has entered in." 

They bid us dry our tears for him 
Who came, his crown to win 

Arise then, see the Master's hand 

E'en in this bitter blow ; 
Be sure the perfect time has come, 

All else, ye cannot know. 
Firm at the helm he stood his own, 

Steadfast, and firm, and true ; 
Unswerving in his manly course, 

No matter what wind blew. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 133 

A Nation's hope was granted him, 

A Nation's trust and care ; 
A martyr at his post he fell, 

Lost in a cruel snare. 
And now a mighty Nation mourns 

All that was brave and best ; 
His earnest, Christian deeds will live 

To sanctify his rest. 

B. Herbert. 



A LITTLE WHILE. 

A little while shall loved ones dwell apart ; 
Only a little while, and then 
The messenger will come again, 
And coming, call for thee, my friend, 
And thou wilt fellow willingly. 

Waiting this little while in some still hour, 
The spirit freed from clay will have 
Permit to come and sit with thee ; 
W T ith unseen hand to lead thee on, 
And cheer thee in thy loneliness. 

Wait patiently the while, the one now gone, 
Will be, perchance, close by thy side 
When thou shall pass the stream of death ; 
Will be the first to take thy hand. 
When thou shalt enter Paradise. 
16 



134 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

This little while all past, no parting more 
For thou and thine ; the faith was had 
In Him, Immanuel will bring 
Each to a heavenly Father's home, 
Where dwells our Lord, our Righteousness. 

P. H. Taylor. 



TIME'S HAND SHALL COMFORT US. 
Consigned to earth. The last sad rite is o'er ; 

The solemn bells at length have ceased to toll. 
The stricken nation sits with bended head, 

For, still reverberating through its soul, 
Are mournful echoes of the bell's sad chime, 
And only can the healing hand of Time 
Reach down to comfort us. 

That great, calm soul has found the Infinite. 

The brave, true heart, that only sought His will 
And the nation's good, shall throb no more ; 

Its work is done. The finite hand is still. 
But is he dead ? he whom the nation weeps ? 
" Be still, and watch, ye sufferers, he but sleeps." 
Time's hand shall comfort us. 

For he has left, as priceless legacy, 

A spotless fame, a tender love and pure, 

A deep devotion to a noble cause, 

Undying faith that right shall still endure. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 135 

i 

And after patience, hope and courage lie, 
Bereft of strength, and only wait to die, 
Knows time shall comfort us. 

Oh, from those heights beyond our ken, 

To which thine eagle soul hath flown, 
Canst thou look back to haunts of men, 

And know us as we would be known ? 
Then shall thou see how deep our love 

For thee, and all thy heart loved best, 
Our earnest lives would gladly prove 

The nation honors thy bequest. 

From the dim future comes a potent voice: 

" The nation shall not cry to God in vain ; 
He did not die who seemed to sleep, 

I called him, but he came that he might reign 
In grander state ; the little pomp below 
Was not for such as he. 'Tis empty show. 
Time's hand shall comfort thee." 

Lucy M, Creemer. 



THOU KNOWEST BEST. 

Thy will be done ! We cannot lift the veil 
That shrouds thy wisdom, Lord, from mortal eyes. 
Thou art unfathomable, and Thy ways 
Past finding out. 



136 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

In grief we humbly bow 

As tear-dimmed eyes behold our stricken Chief 
Laid low by death. In vain we try to grasp 
The lesson Thou wouldst teach a sorrowing world : 
The arm that oft has stayed the approaching tide 
Of party feud and strife no longer holds 
The helm ; the mind, replete with golden thought, 
Forever striving after clearer truth 
And light, is now at rest ; the tender heart, 
Aglow with love, and aspirations grand, 
Is cold and still. Around their leader's bier 
A mourning nation weeps ; whilst faith and doubt 
And love and fear presume, with contrast strange, 
To solve the mystery of Thy providence. 
But Thou knowest best, and once, when face to face 
We see no longer darkly through the glass, 
We, too, shall know. Death's call brooks no delay, 
It comes to all. And as the parents' hearts 
Are joined more firmly o'er a loved one's grave, 
So o'er our chief to-day, now cold in death, 
A nation's union is more strongly knit. 
From East and West, from North and South, the hearts 
Of millions beat as one with poignant grief, 
And faction's angry voice is hushed once more. 

We leave in faith and hope our doubts, our fears, 

Our country's future destiny, our all 

With Thee, our Father, and our country's God. 

F. W. Reeder. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 137 

STRANGE CRAFT IN THE OFFING." 
Impatient while we weep they wait, 
Three shining angels, white and great, 
Three galleys riding brave in bay 
To bear our ruler's soul away. 

All men might see the first that came, 
A messenger of lucent flame, 
And watch how strangely, day by day, 
The great ship neared or wore away. 

And, lo ! a fourth, as sudden sent, 
On errand grand and imminent, 
Were not our ears too dull to hear 
We well might note her hailing cheer ! 

Oh, wondrous ships, whose airy spars 
Unseen float by the sentry stars, 
And but for those great lights and fair 
Would come upon us unaware ! 

Save that from waves auroral rolled 
The air is full of dirges tolled ; 
Save that from cottage and from tower 
One sable woe is signed this hour, 

E'en while we wonder and look on 

To fairer isles than Avalon, 

Ye bear the ruler of this land 

And furl your sails on heaven's strand. 

Lillie C. Darst. 
17 



138 MEMORIAL POEMS TO 



GARFIELD'S FAVORITE HYMN. 

Ho, reapers of life's harvest, 

Why stand with rusted blade, 
Until night draws around thee, 

And day begins to fade ? 
Why stand ye idle, waiting 

For reapers more to come ? 
The golden morn is passing, 

Why sit ye idle, dumb? 

Thrust in your sharpened sickle, 

And gather in the grain ; 
The night is fast approaching, 

And soon will come again. 
Thy master calls for reapers ; 

And shall he call in vain ? 
Shall sheaves lie there ungathered, 

And waste upon the plain ? 

Come down from hill and mountain, 

In morning's ruddy glow, 
Nor wait until the dial 

Points to the noon below : 
And come with the strong sinew, 

Nor faint in heat or cold ; 
And pause not till the evening 

Draws round its wealth of gold. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 139 

A LETTER FROM JOHN G. WHITTIER. 

In reply to an invitation to contribute a memorial 
poem, Mr. Whittier responded in the following brief 
letter which is poetical in its sympathy, and expresses 
with pathos, the sadness of his great heart in this our 
nation's calamity: 

Danvers, Mass. , i oth mo. , ig, 1 88 1 . 

J. C. McCLENAHAN, 

Dear Friend: Owing to illness, I have been under 
the necessity of abstaining from literary work for some 
time, and, while I have deeply felt the occasion, I have 
not been able to write memorial verse on the death of 
our beloved President. I enclose a letter of mine on the 
subject, which will show that I share the sorrow and sym- 
pathy felt so deeply and widely. 

Thy Friend, 

JOHN G. WHITTIER. 

Danvers, Mass., qthmo., 24, 1881. 
W. H. B. CURRIER, 

My Dear Friend: I regret that it is not in my power to 
join the citizens of Amesbury and Salisbury in the memorial 
services on the occasion of the death of our lamented Presi- 
dent. But, in heart and sympathy, I am with you. I share 
the great sorrow which overshadows the land ; I fully appre- 
ciate the irretrievable loss. But it seems to me, that the occa- 
sion is one for thankfulness as well as grief. Through all the 
stages of the solemn tragedy which has just closed with the 
death of our noblest and best, I have felt that the Divine 



I4O MEMORIAL POEMS TO 

Providence was over-ruling the mighty affliction that the 
patient sufferer at Washington was drawing with cords of sym- 
pathy all sections and parties nearer to each other. And now 
when South and North, Democrat and Republican, Radical 
and Conservative, lift their voices in one unbroken accord of 
lamentation ; when I see how, in spite of the greed of gain, 
the lust of office, the strifes and meanness of party politics, 
the great heart of the nation proves sound and loyal, I feel a 
new hope for the republic, I have a firmer faith in its stability. 
It is said that no man liveth and no man dieth to himself; and 
the pure and noble life of Garfield, and his slow, long martyr- 
dom, so bravely borne in the view of all, are, I believe, bear- 
ing for us as a people, " the peaceful fruits of righteousness." 
We are stronger, wiser, better for them. 

With him it is well. His mission fulfilled, he goes to his 
grave by the Lakeside, honored and lamented as man never 
was before. The whole world mourns him. There is no 
speech nor language where the voice of his praise is not heard. 
About his grave gather, with heads uncovered, the vast 
brotherhood of man. 

And with us it is well, also. We are nearer a united people 
than ever before. We are at peace with all ; our future is full 
of promise ; our industrial and financial condition is hopeful. 
God grant that, while our material interests prosper, the moral 
and spiritual influence of this occasion may be permanently 
felt ; that the solemn sacrament of sorrow whereof we have 
been made partakers, may be blest to the promotion of the 
" righteousness which exalteth a nation." 

Thy Friend, 

JOHN G. WHITTIER. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 



POEMS BY JAMES A. GARFIELD. 

The following poems, written by MR. GARFIELD, 
show something of his poetic inspiration, as well as his 
broad native gifts and consummate culture. The poem 
" Memory " was written before our late President's first 
term in Congress, hence some twenty years ago, and 
is worthy of the great fame of its author. At that time 
possibly the president of a Christian college was the 
" summit where the sunbeams fell," but the last lines 
are all but a prophecy. The other, entitled " Autumn," 
written while a student at Williams College, is singularly 
touching, embracing with comprehensive sympathy his 
love for the beautiful and harmonious in nature. 

MEMORY. 

'Tis beauteous night ! the stars look brightly down 
Upon the earth, decked in her robe of snow. 
No light gleams at the window, save my own, 
Which gives its cheer to midnight and to me. 
And now, with noiseless step, sweet memory comes 
And leads me gently through her twilight realms. 
What poet's tuneful lyre has ever sung 
Or delicate pen e'er portrayed, 

The enchanted, shadowy land where memory dwells? 
It has its valleys, cheerless, lone and drear, 
Dark-shaded by the mournful cypress tree ; 



142 POEMS BY 

And yet its sun-lit mountain-tops are bathed 
In Heaven's own blue. Upon its craggy cliffs, 
Robed in the distant light of drea;ny years, 
Are clustered joys serene of other days. 
Upon its gentle, sloping hillsides bend 
The weeping willows o'er the sacred dust 
Of dear departed ones ! yet in that land, 
Where'er our footsteps fall upon the shore, 
They that were sleeping rise from out the dust 
Of death's long, silent years, and round us stand 
As erst they did before the prison tomb 
Received their clay within its voiceless halls. 
The heavens that bend above that land are hung 
With clouds of various hues. Some dark and chill, 
Surcharged with sorrow, cast vyith somber shade 
Upon the sunny, joyous land below. 
Others are floating through the dreamy air, 
White as the falling snow, their margins tinged 
With gold and crimsoned hues; their shadows fall 
Upon the flowery meads and sunny slopes, 
Soft as the shadow of an angel's wing. 
When the rough battle of the day is done, 
And evening's peace falls gently on the heart, 
I bound away across the noisy yearb, 
Unto the" utmost verge of memory's land, 
Where earth and sky in dreamy distance meet, 
And memory dim with dark oblivion joins, 
Where woke the first remembered sounds that fell 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 143 

Upon the ear in childhood's early morn ; 

And, wandering thence along the rolling years, 

I see the shadow of my former self 

Gliding from childhood up to man's estate. 

The path of youth winds down through many a vale, 

And on the brink of many a dread abyss, 

From out whose darkness comes no ray of light, 

Save that a phantom dances o'er the gulf 

And beckons toward the verge. Again the path 

Leads o'er the summit where the sunbeams fall; 

And thus in light and shade, sunshine and gloom, 

Sorrow and joy, the life-path leads along. 



AUTUMN. 

Old Autumn thou art here ! Upon the earth 

And in the heavens the signs of death are hung ; 

For o'er the earth's brown breast stalks pale decay, 

And 'mong the lowering clouds the wild winds wail, 

And sighing sadly, shout the solemn dirge 

O'er summer's fairest flowers, all faded now. 

The winter god, descending from the skies, 

Has reached the mountain tops and decked their brows 

With glittering frosty crowns, and breathed his breath 

Among the trumpet-pines, that herald forth 

His coming. 



144 JAMES A. GARFIELD. 

Before the driving blast 

The mountain oak bows down his hoary head, 
And flings his withered locks to the rough gales 
That fiercely roar among his branches bare, 
Uplifted to the dark, unpitying heavens. 
The skies have put their mourning garments on, 
And hung their funeral drapery on the clouds. 
Dead nature soon will wear her shrouds of snow, 



And lie entombed in winter's icy grave. 

Thus passes life. As heavy age comes on, 
The joys of youth bright beauties of the spring 
Grow dim and faded, and the long dark night 
Of death's chill winter comes. But as the spring 
Rebuilds the ruined wrecks of winter's waste, 
And cheers the gloomy earth with joyous light 
So o'er the tomb the star of hope shall rise 
And usher in an ever-during day. 



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